UC-NR 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

BY 

EUGENE  MANLOVE  RHODES 

1 1 

Author  of  "Good  Men  and  True"  "Bransford  of  Rainbow 
Range"  "The  Desire  of  the  Moth"  "West  is  West,"  etc. 

WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS 


BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

fiitoew&c  pres£  Cambribge 
1921 


Copyright,  1920,  by 
THE  CURTIS  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

Copyright,  1921,  by 
HOT"  G ETON  MIlTLiN  COMPANY 


TO  MY  WIFE 


M13688 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 


THERE  are  two  sorts  of  people — those 
who  point  with  pride  and  those  who 
view  with  alarm.     They  are  quite  right. 
The  world  will  not  soon  forget  Parkman 
"of  Ours."     Here  was   a  man  of  learning, 
common  sense,  judgment  and  wide  sympathies. 
Yet  once  he  stumbled;  the  paregorical  im 
perative,  which  impels  each  of  us  to  utter 
ignominious  nonsense,   urged.  Francis   Park 
man  to  the  like  unhappiness,  drove  him  to 
father  and  put  forth  this  void  and  singular 
statement: 

I  have  often  perplexed  myself  to  divine  the  various 
motives  that  give  impulse  to  this  strange  migration;  but 
whatever  they  may  be,  whether  an  insane  hope  of  a  better 
condition  of  life,  or  a  desire  of  shaking  off  the  restraints 
of  law  and  society,  or  mere  restlessness,  certain  it  is  that 
multitudes  bitterly  repent  the  journey. 

The  year  was  1846;  the  place,  Indepen 
dence,  in  Missouri;  that  strange  migration  was 

9 


io  STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

the  winning  of  the  West  Mr.  Parkman 
viewed  it  with  4larrn.  The  passage  quoted 
may  yet  be  found  in  the  first  chapter  of  "The 
Oregon  Trail."  We,  wise  after  the  event, 
now  point  with  pride  to  that  strange  migration 
of  our  fathers.  The  Great  Trek  has  lasted 
three  hundred  years.  To-day  we  dimly  per 
ceive  that  the  history  of  America  is  the  story 
of  the  pioneer;  that  on  our  shifting  frontiers 
the  race  has  been  hammered  and  tempered  to 
a  cutting  edge. 

That  insane  hope  of  better  things — the  same 
which  beckoned  on  the  Israelites  and  the  Pil 
grim  Fathers;  restraints  of  law  and  society, 
which  in  Egypt  made  the  Israelite  a  slave,  in 
England  gave  the  Puritan  to  the  pillory  and 
the  stocks,  and  in  this  western  world  of  ours 
took  the  form  of  a  hollow  squire,  founder  by 
letters  patent  of  a  landed  oligarchy — so  that 
the  bold  and  venturesome  sought  homes  in  the 
unsquired  wilderness;  and  restlessness,  that 
quality  which  marks  the  most  notable  dif 
ference  between  man  and  sandstone.  Restless 
ness,  shaking  off  restraints,  insane  hopes — in 
that  cadence  of  ideas  what  is  there  of  haunt- 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT  n 

ing,  echolike  and  familiar?  Restraints  of 
society?  When  the  very  stones  of  the  streets 
shrieked  at  him  the  name  of  that  town — In 
dependence!  Now  we  know  the  words  that 
haunted  us :  "Lif  e,  liberty,  and  the  pursuit  of 
happiness!"  Never  was  echo  clearer.  The 
emigrants  were  there  in  exercise  of  those  un 
avoidable  rights.  Not  happiness,  or  the  over 
taking  of  happiness;  the  pursuit  of  happiness 
— the  insane  hope  of  a  better  condition  of  life. 

That  which  perplexed  Parkman  looked 
upon,  disapproving,  was  the  settlement  of 
America — the  greatest  upbuilding  of  recorded 
time;  and  the  prime  motive  of  that  great  mi 
gration  was  the  motive  of  all  migrations — • 
the  search  for  food  and  land.  They  went  west 
for  food.  What  they  did  there  was  to  work; 
if  you  require  a  monument — take  a  good  look! 

Here  is  the  record  of  a  few  late  camp  fires 
of  the  Great  Trek, 


"Why-Why  had  been  principally  beaten  about  the  face,  and 
his  injuries,  therefore,  were  slight." 

— The  Romance  of  the  First  Radical. 

"A  fine  face^  marred  by  an  expression  of  unscrupulous  in 
tegrity."  —Credit  Lost. 

THE  lady  listened  with  fluttering  atten 
tion.    The  lady  was  sweet  and  twenty, 
and  the  narrator — myself — \vas  spurred 
to  greater  effort.     Suddenly  a  thought  struck 
her.     It   was    a    severe    blow.     She    sat    up 
straight,  she  stiffened  her  lips  to  primness,  her 
fine  eyes  darkened  with  suspicion,  her  voice 
crisped  to  stern  inquiry. 

"I  suppose,  when  Sunday  came,  you  kept 
right  on  working?" 

It  was  an  acid  supposition.  Her  dear  little 
nose  squinched  to  express  some  strong  emotion 
— loving-kindness,  perhaps;  her  dear  little 
upper  lip  curled  ominous.  She  looked  as 
though  she  might  bite. 

"Kept  right  on  working  is  right.  We  had 
to  keep  on  working,"  I  explained.  "We 
couldn't  very  well  work  six  days  gathering 

12 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT  13 

cattle  and  then  turn  them  all  loose  again  on 
the  seventh  day — could  we  now?" 

The  lady  frowned.  The  lady  sniffed.  She 
was  not  one  to  be  turned  aside  by  subterfuge. 
She  leaned  forward  to  strike,  and  flattened  her 
brows  in  scorn.  She  looked  uncommonly  like 
a  rattlesnake.  She  said : 

"I  suppose  you  couldn't  put  them  in  the 
barn-yards?" 

And  I  learned  about  readers  from  her. 

Cattle  were  once  grazed  to  the  nearest  rail 
road — say,  a  thousand  miles — yes,  and  beyond 
that  railroad  to  Wyoming  grass;  or  Montana. 
No  one  who  saw  those  great  herds  forgot  them 
or  ever  quite  refrained  from  speech  of  those 
stirring  days,  to  children  or  grandchildren. 
That  is  why  so  many  think — not  unnaturally 
— that  range  cattle  were  always  held  under 
herd.  But  it  is  a  mistaken  impression. 
Cattle  do  not  thrive  under  herd. 

Cattle  on  the  free  range — everybody's 
cattle — were  turned  loose  and  mixed  together. 
There  were  no  fences  except  as  deep  rivers 
counted  for  such;  the  Panama  Canal  was  yet 


I4  STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

undug.  Twice  a  year,  in  spring  and  fall, 
everybody  gets  together  to  work  the  cattle  at 
the  rodeo,  or  round-up.  They  brand  the 
calves;  they  take  into  the  day  herd  all  strays, 
all  steers  or  cows  to  be  shipped,  and  nothing 
more.  From  cattle  gathered  each  day  steers 
and  strays  are  cut  out  and  thrown  into  the  day 
herd ;  all  the  others,  the  range  cattle,  are  turn 
ed  loose  with  a  vigorous  shove  in  that  direc 
tion  most  remote  from  to-morrow's  round-up. 

Again,  your  ranch  was  that  land  to  which 
you  had  either  title  or  claim ;  its  purpose  was 
to  give  a  water  right  on  stream  or  lake  or  to 
hold  spring,  well  or  tank.  But  your  range 
was  either  Texas  land  or  Uncle  Sam's  land 
as  far  as  your  cattle  would  range  from  your 
various  water  rights — say,  twenty-five  miles  in' 
each  direction.  Your  range  was  that  country 
where  you  were  reasonably  sure  your  cattle 
would  not  be  stolen  by  strangers. 

Here  was  the  way  of  the  Bar  Cross 
round-up;  with  slight  variations  it  was  the 
way  of  any  round-up.  The  Bar  Cross  Com 
pany,  running  the  biggest  brand  on  the  Jor 
nada  range,  supplied  one  foreman,  one  straw 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT  15 

boss,  three  top  hands  and  the  captain  of  the 
day  herd;  one  horse  wrangler,  who  herded 
the  saddle  horses  by  day;  one  night  wrangler, 
who  herded  them  by  night;  and  mounts  for 
these  eight.  The  Bar  Cross  also  furnished 
one  red-headed  cook;  one  chuck  wagon  and 
the  chuck — chuck  being  grub — and  one  bed 
wagon  to  haul  bed  rolls  from  camp  to  camp, 
and  also  to  haul  wood  and  water  between 
times.  Item:  Four  mules  for  the  chuck 
wagon,  and  two  for  the  bed  wagon.  The 
night  wrangler  drove  the  bed  wagon;  night 
wranglers  were  not  supposed  to  sleep. 

Other  ranchmen,  co-users  of  the  Bar  Cross 
range,  sent  each  a  man  and  his  mount  to  repre 
sent.  A  man  with  many  cattle  might  send  two 
or  more  men;  the  7  T  X — next  to  the  Bar 
Cross  the  biggest  brand  on  the  Jornada — sent 
four.  Each  man  or  each  two  men  brought 
tarp  and  bedding  on  a  pack  horse. 

From  north,  south,  east  and  west  came  the 
stray  men,  each  with  mount  and  bed.  Stray 
men  stayed  with  the  outfit  as  long  as  it  pleased 
them.  When  they  were  satisfied  they  cut  out 
from  the  day  herd  their  own  cattle,  together 


16  STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

with  those  of  their  neighbors,  and  drove  them 
home.  As  a  usual  thing,  three  or  four  would 
throw  in  and  drive  back  together.  If  by 
chance  some  man  was  homeward  bound  and 
alone,  the  Bar  Cross  detailed  a  man  to  help 
him  home;  a  friendly  and  not  imprudent 
custom. 

To  sum  up :  The  Bar  Cross  paid  nine  men, 
and  provided  good  grub  for  all  comers;  in 
return  it  had  the  help  of  twenty-five  to  forty 
men  in  working  the  range;  the  rodeo,  or 
round-up. 

During  the  weeks  or  months  of  that  work 
ing,  wherever  some  other  outfit  gave  a 
round-up — east,  west,  south  or  north — there, 
with  mount  and  bed,  went  either  a  Bar  Cross 
man  or  one  from  some  other  brand  of  the 
Jornada  people,  bringing  back  all  Jornada 
cattle. 

A  word  about  horses.  In  the  fall,  when 
grass  was  green  and  good,  a  mount  was  eight 
to  thirteen  head.  One  must  be  gentle ;  he  was 
night  horse;  every  man  stood  guard  at  night 
two  and  a  half  to  three  hours;  all  night  in 
case  of  storm.  For  the  others,  the  best  were 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT  17 

cutting  horses,  used  afternoons,  when  the  day's 
drive  was  worked;  the  poorest  were  circle 
horses  and  were  ridden  in  the  forenoon,  when 
the  round-up  was  made.  But  in  the  spring 
it  is  different.  Grass  is  scant  and  short;  corn 
is  fed,  and  four  horses  go  to  a  mount;  the 
range  is  worked  lightly. 

So  much  was  needful  by  way  of  glossary 
and  guide;  so  partly  to  avoid  such  handicap 
as  we  meet  in  telling  a  baseball  story  to  an 
Englishman. 

It  is  a  singular  thing  that  with  the  Bar 
Cross  were  found  the  top  ropers,  crack  riders, 
sure  shots — not  only  the  slickest  cowmen,  but 
also  the  wisest  cow  ponies.  Our  foremen 
were  "cowmen  right,"  our  wranglers  held 
the  horses,  our  cooks  would  fry  anything  once. 
But  you  know  how  it  is — your  own  organiza 
tion — firm,  farm  or  factory — is  doubtless  the 
best  of  its  kind.  No?  You  surprise  me. 
You  have  missed  much — faith  in  others,  hope 
for  others,  comradeship. 

It  is  laughable  to  recall  that  men  of  other 
brands  disputed  the  headship  of  the  Bar  Cross. 
Nor  was  this  jest  or  bravado ;  the  poor  fellows 


1 8  STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

were  sincere  enough.  Indeed,  we  thought  this 
pathetic  loyalty  rather  admirable  than  other 
wise.  Such  were  the  101,  in  Colorado;  the 
X  I  T,  in  the  Panhandle;  the  Block  and  the 
V  V,  between  the  Pecos  and  the  Front  Range ; 
the  Bar  W,  west  of  the  White  Mountain;  the 
V  Cross  T,  the  John  Cross,  the  Diamond  A 
and  the  L  C,  west  of  the  Rio  Grande.  Even 
from  Arizona,  the  T  L,  the  Toltec  Company 
— Little  Colorado  River  way — put  forth  ab 
surd  pretensions. 

The  Bar  Cross  men  smiled,  knowing  what 
they  knew.  That  sure  knowledge  was  the 
foundation  of  the  gay  and  holdfast  spirit  they 
brought  to  confront  importunate  life.  No 
man  wanted  to  be  the  weak  link  of  that  strong 
chain;  each  brought  to  his  meanest  task  the 
earnestness  that  is  remarked  upon  when  Mr. 
Ty  Cobb  slides  into  second  base;  they  bent 
every  energy  on  the  thing  they  did  at  the  joy 
ful  time  of  doing  it.  In  this  way  only  is  de 
veloped  that  rare  quality  to  which  the  scien 
tific  give  the  name  of  pep  or  punch.  Being 
snappy  made  them  happy,  and  being  happy 
made  them  snappy;  establishing  what  is 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT  19 

known  to  philosophers  as  the  virtuous  circle. 
The  nearest  parallel  is  newspaper  circulation, 
which  means  more  advertising,  which  boosts 
circulation,  and  so  onward  and  upward. 

In  that  high  eagerness  of  absorption,  a  man 
"working  for  the  brand"  did  not,  could  not, 
center  all  thoughts  on  self ;  he  trusted  his  fel 
lows,  counted  upon  them,  joyed  in  their  deeds. 
And  to  forget  self  in  the  thought  of  others 
is  for  so  long  to  reach  life  at  its  highest. 

The  Bar  Cross  had  worked  the  northern 
half  of  the  range,  getting  back  to  Engle,  the 
center  and  the  one  shipping  point  of  the 
Jornada,  with  fifteen  hundred  steers — finding 
there  no  cars  available,  no  prospect  of  cars 
for  ten  days  to  come.  To  take  those  steers 
to  the  south  and  back  meant  that  they  would 
be  so  gaunted  as  to  be  unfit  for  shipment. 

So  the  wagon  led  on  softly,  drifting  down 
to  the  river,  to  a  beating  of  bosques  for  out 
law  cattle  and  a  combing  of  half-forgotten 
ridges  and  pockets  behind  Christobal  Moun 
tain.  It  was  a  work  which  because  of  its  diffi 
culty  had  been  shirked  for  years;  the  river 


20  STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

cattle  mostly  came  out  on  the  plains  in  the 
rainy  season,  and  got  their  just  deserts  there. 
Waiting  for  cars,  the  outfit  was  marking  time 
anyhow.  Any  cattle  snared  on  the  river  were 
pure  gain.  The  main  point  was  to  handle  the 
stock  tenderly.  From  working  the  bosques 
the  outfit  expected  few  cattle  and  got  less. — 
The  poets  babble  about  the  bosky  dell ;  bosque, 
literally  translated,  means  "woods."  Yet  for 
this  purpose  if  you  understand  the  word  as 
"jungle,"  you  will  be  the  less  misled. 

Johnny  Dines  sat  tailor-wise  on  his  horse 
at  the  crest  of  a  sandy  knoll  and  looked  down 
at  the  day  herd,  spread  out  over  a  square  mile 
of  tableland,  and  now  mostly  asleep  in  the 
brooding  heat  of  afternoon.  About  the  herd 
other  riders,  six  in  all,  stood  at  attention,  black 
silhouettes,  or  paced  softly  to  turn  back 
would-be  stragglers. 

Of  these  riders  Neighbor  Jones  alone  was  a 
Bar  Cross  man.  He  was  captain  of  the  day 
herd,  a  fixture;  for  him  reluctant  straymen 
were  detailed  in  turn,  day  by  day,  as  day  herd 
ers.  Johnny  represented  a  number  of  small 
brands  in  the  north  end  of  the  Black  Range. 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT  21 

His  face  was  sparkling,  all  alive ;  he  was  short, 
slender,  black-haired,  black-eyed,  two  and 
twenty.  He  saw — Neighbor  Jones  himself 
not  sooner — what  turmoil  rose  startling  from 
a  lower  bench  to  riverward;  a  riot  of  wild 
cattle  with  riders  as  wild  on  lead  and  swing 
and  point.  As  a  usual  thing,  the  day's  catch 
comes  sedately  to  the  day  herd;  but  this  day's 
catch  was  bosque  cattle — renegades  and  des 
perates  of  a  dozen  brands. 

Jody  Weir,  on  Johnny's  right,  sat  on  the 
sand  in  the  shadow  of  his  horses.  This  was 
not  ethical;  seeing  him,  Yoast  and  Ralston, 
leading  the  riot,  turned  that  way,  drew  aside 
to  right  and  left,  and  so  loosed  the  charging 
hurricane  directly  at  the  culprit. 

Weir  scrambled  to  saddle  and  spurred  from 
under.  The  other  riders  closed  in  on  the  day 
herd,  stirring  them  up  the  better  to  check  the 
outlaws.  Half  of  the  round-up  crew  fol 
lowed  Yoast  to  the  right  of  the  now  roused  and 
bellowing  day  herd,  bunching  them;  the 
others  followed  Ralston  on  Johnny's  side  of 
the  herd. 

Cole    Ralston   was    the    Bar    Cross    fore- 


22  STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

man.  Overtaking  Johnny,  he  raised  a  fin 
ger;  the  two  drew  rein  and  let  the 
others  pass  by.  Cole  spoke  to  the  last  man. 

"Spike,  when  they  quiet  down  you  ride 
round  and  tell  all  these  day-herder  waddies 
that  if  any  of  'em  want  to  write  letters  they 
can  slip  in  to  the  wagon.  I'm  sending  a  man 
to  town  soon  after  supper." 

He  turned  to  Johnny,  laughing. 

"Them  outcasts  was  sure  snaky.  We  near 
wasted  the  whole  bunch.  Had  to  string  'em 
out  and  let  'em  run  so  they  thought  they  was 
getting  away  or  they'd  ha'  broke  back  into  the 
brush." 

"Two  bull  fights  started  already,"  observed 
Johnny.  "Your  Sunday-School  bulls  are 
hunting  up  the  wild  ones,  just  a-snuffin'." 

"The  boys  will  keep  'em  a-moving,"  said 
Cole.  "Dines,  you  ride  your  own  horses, 
so  I  reckon  you're  not  drawing  pay  from 
the  ninety-seven  piney-woods  brands  you're 
lookin'  out  for.  Just  turning  their  cattle  in 
a  neighborly  way?" 

"Someone  had  to  come." 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT  23 

"Well,  then,"  said  Cole,  "how  would  you 
like  a  Bar  Cross  mount?" 

Slow  red  tinged  the  olive  of  Johnny's  cheek, 
betraying  the  quickened  heartbeats. 

"You've  done  hired  a  hand — quick  as  ever 
I  throw  these  cattle  back  home." 

"Wouldn't  Walter  Hearn  cut  out  your  milk- 
pen  brands  as  close  as  you  would?" 

"Sure!     He's  one  of  the  bunch." 

"Your  pay  started  this  morning,  then. 
Here's  the  lay.  To-morrow  we  work  the  herd 
and  start  the  west-bound  strays  home.  Walt 
can  throw  in  with  the  S  S  Bar  man  and  I'll 
send  Lon  along  to  represent  the  Bar  Cross. 
Hiram  goes  to  the  John  Cross  work,  at  the 
same  time  helpin'  Pink  throw  back  the  John 
Cross  stuff.  So  that  leaves  us  shy  a  short 
man.  That's  you.  Send  your  horses  home 
with  Walt." 

"I'd  like  to  keep  one  with  me  for  my 
private." 

"All  right.  Leave  him  at  the  horse  camp. 
Can't  carry  any  idlers  with  the  caballada — 
makes  the  other  horses  discontented.  You 


24  STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

drift  into  the  wagon  early,  when  you  see  the 
horse  herd  coming.  I'm  goin'  to  send  you  to 
the  horse  camp  to  get  you  a  mount.  We'll  cut 
out  all  the  lame  ones  and  sore  backs  from  our 
mounts  too.  I'll  give  you  a  list  of  fresh  ones 
to  bring  back  for  us.  You  go  up  to  Engle 
after  supper  and  then  slip  out  to  Moongate 
to-morrow.  We'll  be  loadin'  'em  at  Engle 
when  you  get  back.  No  hurry;  take  your 
time." 

He  rode  on.  Behind  him  the  most  joyous 
heart  between  two  oceans  thumped  at  Johnny's 
ribs.  It  is  likely  that  you  see  no  cause  for 
pride.  You  see  a  hard  job  for  a  scanty  wage; 
to  Johnny  Dines  it  was  accolade  and  shoulder 
stroke.  Johnny's  life  so  far  had  been  made 
up  all  of  hardships  well  borne.  But  that  was 
what  Johnny  did  not  know  or  dream;  to-day, 
hailed  man-grown,  he  thought  of  his  honors, 
prince  and  peer,  not  as  deserved  and  earned, 
but  as  an  unmerited  stroke  of  good  fortune. 

The  herd,  suddenly  roused,  became  vocifer 
ous  with  query  and  rumor;  drifted  uneasily  a 
little,  muttered,  whispered,  tittered,  fell  quiet 
again,  to  cheerful  grazing.  The  fresh  wild 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT  25 

cattle,  nearing  the  periphery,  glimpsed  the 
dreaded  horsemen  beyond,  and  turned  again 
to  hiding  in  the  center.  Cole  and  most  of  his 
riders  drew  away  and  paced  soberly  camp- 
ward,  leaving  ten  herders  where  they  found 
six. 

Jody  Weir  rode  over  to  Johnny. 

"Old  citizen,"  he  said,  "the  rod  tells  me  you 
are  for  Engle,  and  if  I  wanted  to  send  letters 
I  might  go  write  'em.  But  I  beat  him  to  it. 
Letter  to  my  girl  all  written  and  ready.  All 
I  had  to  do  was  to  put  in  a  line  with  my  little 
old  pencil,  telling  her  we'd  work  the  herd  to 
morrow  and  start  home  next  day.  She'll  be 
one  pleased  girl;  she  sure  does  love  her  little 
Jody." 

Johnny  knotted  his  brows  in  puzzlement. 
"But  who  reads  your  letters  to  her?"  he  said 
wonderingly. 

"Now  what  you  doin' — tryin'  to  slur  my 
girl?  She's  educated,  that  child  is." 

"No ;  but  when  you  said  she — she  liked  her 
little  Jody — why,  I  naturally  supposed" — 
Johnny  hesitated — "her  eyesight,  you  know, 
might  be — " 


26  STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

Weir  slapped  his  leg  and  guffawed. 

"Thought  she  was  blind,  did  you?  Well, 
she  ain't.  If  she  was  I  wouldn't  be  writing 
this  letter.  Most  of  it  is  heap  private  and 
confidential."  His  face  took  on  a  broad  and 
knowing  leer  as  he  handed  over  the  letter.  It 
was  fat;  it  was  face  up ;  it  bore  the  address : 

MR.  J.  D.  WEIR,  HILLSBORO,  N.  M. 

Johnny  put  the  letter  carefully  in  his  saddle 
pocket. 

"Don't  you  think  maybe  you're  leaving  an 
opening  for  some  of  the  cattle  to  slip  out?" 
he  said,  twitching  his  thumb  toward  Weir's 
deserted  post. 

"Let  them  other  waddies  circulate  a  little — 
lazy  dogs!  Won't  hurt  'em  any.  Cattle  ain't 
troublin',  nohow.  Cole,  he  told  me  himself 
to  slide  over  and  give  you  my  letters.  Darned 
funny  if  a  man  can't  gas  a  little  once  in  a 
while."  He  gave  Johnny  a  black  look. 
"Say,  feller !  Maybe  you  don't  like  my  talk?" 

"No,"  said  Johnny,  "I  don't.  Not  unless 
you  change  the  subject.  That  young  lady 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT  27 

wouldn't  want  you  to  be  talking  her  over  with 
any  tough  you  meet." 

Jody  Weir  checked  his  horse  and  regarded 
Dines  with  a  truculent  stare.  "Aw,  hell! 
She  ain't  so  particular!  Here,  let  me  show 
you  the  stuff  she  writes,  herself."  His  hand 
went  to  his  vest  pocket.  "Some  baby  1" 

"Here I  That's  enough!  I'm  surprised  at 
you,  Jody.  I  never  was  plumb  foolish  about 
you,  but  I  suhtenly  thought  you  was  man 
enough  not  to  kiss  and  tell.  That's  as  low- 
down  as  they  ever  get,  I  reckon." 

"You  ain't  got  no  gun.  And  you're  too 
little  for  me  to  maul  round — say  nothing  of 
scaring  the  herd  and  maybe  wasting  a  lot." 

"All  that  is  very  true — to-day.  But  it  isn't 
a  question  of  guns,  just  now.  I'm  trying  to 
get  you  to  shut  up  that  big  blackguard  mouth 
of  yours.  If  you  wasn't  such  a  numskull 
you'd  see  that  I'm  a-doin'  you  a  good  turn." 

"You  little  sawed-off,  bench-legged  pup! 
I  orter  throw  this  gun  away  and  stomp  you 
into  the  sand!  Aw,  what's  a-bitin'  you?  I 
ain't  named  no  names,  have  I?  You're 


28  STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

crowdin'  me  purty  hard.  What's  the  mat 
ter,  feller?  Got  it  in  for  me,  and  usin'  this 
as  an  excuse?  When'd  I  ever  do  you  any 
dirt?" 

"Never,"  said  Johnny.  "Get  this  straight: 
I'm  not  wanting  any  fight.  It's  decency  I'm 
trying  to  crowd  on  to  you — not  a  fight." 

"I  can't  write  to  my  girl  without  your 
say-so,  hey?" 

"Now  you  listen!  Writing  to  a  girl,  fair 
and  above-board,  is  one  thing.  Writing  un 
beknownst  to  her  folks,  with  loose  talk  about 
her  on  the  side,  is  another  thing  altogether. 
It's  yourself  you're  doing  dirt  to — and  to  this 
girl  that  trusted  you." 

Jody's  face  showed  real  bewilderment. 
"How?  You  don't  know  her  name.  No 
body  knows  her  name.  No  one  knows  I  have 
more  than  a  nodding  acquaintance  with  her — 
unless  she  told  you!"  His  eyes  flamed  with 
sudden  suspicion.  "You  know  her  yourself — 
she  told  you!" 

"Jody,  you  put  me  in  mind  of  the  stealthy 
hippopotamus,  and  likewise  of  the  six-toed 
Wallipaloova  bird,  that  hides  himself  under 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT  29 

his  wing,"  said  Dines.  "I've  never  been  in 
Hillsboro,  and  I  never  saw  your  girl.  But 
when  you  write  her  a  letter  addressed  to  your 
self — why  don't  your  dad  take  that  letter  home 
and  keep  it  till  you  come?  How  is  she  going 
to  get  it  out  of  the  post  office?  She  can't — 
unless  she  works  in  the  post  office  herself. 
Old  man  Seiber  is  postmaster  at  Hillsboro. 
IVe  heard  that  much.  And  he's  got  a 
daughter  named  Kitty.  You  see  now  I  was 
telling  you  true — you  talk  too  much." 

Weir's  face  went  scarlet  with  rage. 

"Here's  a  fine  how-de-do  about  a  damn 
little—" 

That  word  was  never  uttered.  Johnny's 
horse,  with  rein  and  knee  and  spur  to  guide 
and  goad,  reared  high  and  flung  sidewise. 
White  hoofs  flashed  above  Weir's  startled 
eyes;  Johnny  launched  himself  through  the 
air  straight  at  Jody's  throat.  Johnny's  horse 
fell  crashing  after,  twisting,  bestriding  at  once 
the  other  horse  and  the  two  locked  and  strain 
ing  men.  Weir's  horse  floundered  and  went 
down,  men  and  horses  rolled  together  in  the 
sand.  From  first  to  last  you  might  have 


30  STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

counted — one — two — three — four !  Johnny 
came  clear  of  the  tangle  with  Jody's  six-shooter 
in  his  hand.  He  grabbed  Jody  by  the  collar 
and  dragged  him  from  under  the  struggling 
horses. 

"We  can't  go  on  with  this,  Jody!"  he  said 
gravely.     "You've  got  no  gun!" 


II 

11  'She  is  useful  to  us,  unctoubtedly,'  answered  Corneuse,  'but 
she  does  us  an  injury  by  ruining  us.'" 

— The  Elm  Tree  on  the  Mall. 

THE  Jornada  is  a  high  desert  of  table 
land,  east  of  the  Rio  Grande.  In  de 
sign  it  is  strikingly  like  a  billiard  table ; 
forty-five  miles  by  ninety,  with  mountain 
ranges  for  rail  at  east  and  west,  broken  high 
lands  on  the  south,  a  lava  bed  on  the  north. 
At  the  middle  of  each  rail  and  at  each  corner, 
for  pockets,  there  is  a  mountain  passway  and 
water;  there  are  peaks  and  landmarks  for  each 
diamond  on  the  rail;  for  the  center  and  for 
each  spot  there  is  a  railroad  station  and  water 
— Lava,  Engle  and  Upham.  Roughly  speak 
ing  there  is  road  or  trail  from  each  spot  to 
each  pocket,  each  spot  to  each  spot,  each 
pocket  to  every  other  pocket.  In  the  center, 
where  you  put  the  pin  at  pin  pool,  stands 
Engle. 

Noon  of  the  next  day  found  Johnny  near- 
ing  Moongate  Pass,  a  deep  notch  in  the  San 
Andreas  Mountains;  a  smooth  semicircle  ex- 

31 


32  STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

actly  filled  and  fitted  by  the  rising  moon, 
when  full  and  seen  from  Engle.  Through 
Moongate  led  the  wagon  road,  branching  at 
the  high  parks  on  the  summit  to  five  springs : 
The  Bar  Cross  horse  camp,  Bear  Den,  Rose 
bud,  Good  Fortune,  Grapevine. 

Johnny  drove  his  casualties  slowly  up  the 
gentle  valley.  On  either  hand  a  black-cedared 
ridge  climbed  eastward,  each  to  a  high  black 
mountain  at  the  head  of  the  pass.  Johnny 
gathered  up  what  saddle  horses  were  in  the 
pass  and  moved  them  along  with  his  cripples. 

At  the  summit  he  came  to  a  great  gateway 
country  of  parks  and  cedar  mottes,  gentle 
slopes  and  low  rolling  ridges,  with  wide 
smooth  valleys  falling  away  to  north  and 
south;  eastward  rose  a  barrier  of  red-sand 
stone  hills.  High  in  those  red  hills  Johnny 
saw  two  horsemen.  They  drove  a  bunch  of 
horses  of  their  own;  they  rode  swiftly  down  a 
winding  backbone  to  intercept  him.  He  held 
up  his  little  herd ;  the  two  riders  slowed  up  in 
response.  They  came  through  a  greenwood 
archway  to  the  little  cove  where  Johnny 
waited.  One  was  a  boy  of  sixteen,  Bob  Gif- 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT  33 

ford,  left  in  charge  of  the  horse  camp;  the 
other  a  tall  stranger  who  held  up  his  hand  in 
salute.  Young  Bob  reined  up  with  a  gay 
flourish. 

"Hello,  Dinesy!"  He  took  a  swift  survey 
of  Johnny's  little  herd  and  sized  up  the  situa 
tion.  "Looks  like  you  done  signed  up  with 
the  Bar  Cross." 

"Oh,  si!  Here's  a  list  of  horses  Cole  sent 
for.  I  don't  know  'em  all,  so  I  brought  along 
all  I  saw." 

Bob  took  the  scrap  of  paper. 

"Calabaza,  Jug,  Silver  Dick — Oh,  excuse 
me!  Mr.  Hales,  this  is  Johnny  Dines.  Mr. 
Hales  is  thinkin'  some  of  buying  that  ornery 
Spot  horse  of  mine.  Johnny,  you  got  nigh  all 
you  need  to  make  good  your  hospital  list. 
Now  let's  see.  Um-m! — Twilight,  Cyclone, 
Dynamite,  Rebel,  Sif  Sam,  Cigarette,  Sky 
rocket,  Straight-edge,  and  so  forth,  Uml 
Your  mount,  that  bunch?  Sweet  spirits  of 
nitre!  Oh,  cowboy!  You  sure  got  to  ride!" 

"Last  man  takes  the  leavings,"  said  Johnny. 

"You  got  'em."  Bob  rolled  his  eyes  elo 
quently.  "I'll  tell  a  man!  Two  sticks  and 


34  STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

eleven  catawampouses  I  Well,  it's  your  fu 
neral.  Any  rush?" 

"Just  so  I  get  back  to  Engle  to-morrow 
night." 

"Easy  as  silk,  then.  All  them  you  ain't  got 
here  will  be  in  to  water  to-night  or  to-morrow 
morning,  'cept  Bluebeard  and  Popcorn. 
They  run  at  Puddingstone  Tanks,  down  the 
canon.  You  and  me  will  go  get  'em  after 
dinner." 

"Dinner?  Let's  go!  Got  any  beef, 
Bobby?" 

"Better'n  beef.  Bear  meat — jerked.  Make 
hair  grow  on  your  chest.  Ever  eat  any?" 

"Bear  meat?    Who  killed  a  bear?" 

"Me.  Little  Bobby.  All  alone.  Three  of 
'em.  Killed  three  in  the  yard  the  very  first 
morning,"  said  little  Bobby  proudly.  "I 
heard  them  snuffin'  and  millin'  round  out  in 
the  water  pen  in  the  night,  but  I  thought  it 
was  stock.  Then  they  come  up  in  the  house 
yard.  Soon  as  it  come  day  I  got  up  to  drive 
'em  out — and  behold  you,  they  was  no  stock, 
but  three  whoppin'  brown  bears.  So  I  fogged 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT  35 

'em.  Killed  all  three  before  they  could  get 
out  of  the  yard." 

"Good  Lord!"  said  Johnny.  His  face 
drooped  to  troubled  lines.  The  man  Hales 
glanced  sharply  at  him. 

"Heap  big  chief  me!"  prattled  Bobby,  un- 
noting.  "Two  bully  good  skins — had  to 
shoot  the  last  one  all  to  rags  to  kill  him — and 
twelve  hundred  pounds  of  good  meat. 
Wah!"  He  turned  to  the  stranger.  "Well, 
Mr.  Hales,  do  you  think  that  little  old  plug 
of  mine  will  suit  you?" 

"Oh,  I  reckon  so.  Beggars  mustn't  be 
choosers — and  I  sure  need  him.  Thirty  dol 
lars,  you  said?" 

"Wouldn't  take  a  cent  more.  I'm  not 
gougin'  you.  That's  his  price,  weekdays  or 
Sunday.  He  don't  look  much,  but  he  ain't 
such  a  bad  little  hoss." 

Hales  nodded.     "He'll  do,  I  guess." 

"You  done  bought  a  horse!"  said  Bobby. 
"And  Johnny,  he's  got  a  mount  to  make  him 
a  rep — if  they  don't  spill  him."  He  broke 
into  rollicking  song : 


36  STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

They  picked  me  up  and  carried  me  In; 

They  rubbed  me  down  with  a  rolling  pin. 
"Oh,  that's  the  way  we  all  begin, 

"You  re  doing  well,"  says  Brown; 
"To-morrow  morn,  If  you  don't  die, 

I'll  give  you  another  horse  to  try." 
"Oh,  cant  you  let  me  walk?"  says  I  — 

Here  he  cocked  an  impish  eye  at  Dines, 
observed  that  gentleman's  mournful  face,  and 
broke  the  song  short. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you  now,  Dinesy? 
You  can  ride  'em,  of  course.  No  trouble  after 
you  first  take  the  edge  off." 

"It  isn't  that,"  said  Dines  sorrowfully.  "I 
— I — you  ain't  a  bit  to  blame,  but— -=n 

He  stopped,  embarrassed. 

"What's  the  matter,  you  old  fool ?     Spill  it !" 

Johnny  sighed  and  drew  in  a  long  breath. 

"I  hate  to  name  it,  Bob — I  do  so.  Hiram 
Yoast  and  Foamy  White,  the  blamed  old  fools, 
they  orter  told  you!  They'll  be  all  broke  up 
about  this."  He  looked  Bob  square  in  the  eye 
and  plunged  on  desperately.  "Them  bears, 
Bobby — Hiram  and  Foamy  had  been  makin' 
pets  of  'em.  Feedin'  them  beef  bones  and 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT  37 

such  ever  since  last  spring — had  'em  plumb 
gentle.'7 

"Hell  and  damnation!" 

Johnny's  eyes  were  candid  and  compassion 
ate.  "Anybody  would  have  done  just  the 
same,  Bobby.  Don't  you  feel  too  bad  about 
it.  Rotten  durned  shame,  though.  Them 
bears  was  a  bushel  o'  fun.  Jack  and  Jill,  the 
two  biggest  ones,  they  was  a  leetle  mite  stand 
offish  and  inclined  to  play  it  safe.  But  the 
Prodigal  Son,  that's  the  least  one — growed  a 
heap  since  last  spring  with  plenty  to  eat  that 
way — why,  the  Prodigal  he'd  never  met  up 
with  any  man  but  Foamy  and  Hi,  so  he  wasn't 
a  mite  leery.  Regular  clown,  that  bear. 
Stand  up  right  in  front  of  the  door,  and  catch 
biscuit  and  truck  the  boys  threw  to  him — loll 
out  his  little  red  tongue  and  grin  like  a  house 
afire.  He  was  right  comical.  How  he  did 
love  molasses!" 

"How  come  them  fools  didn't  tell  me?"  de 
manded  the  crestfallen  hunter,  almost  in  tears. 

"Pretty  tough  luck,"  said  Hales  commiser- 
atingly.  "I  killed  a  pet  deer  once.  I  know 
just  how  you  feel." 


38  STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

"I  don't  know  who's  to  break  it  to  Hiram 
and  Foamy,"  said  Johnny,  grieving.  "It's 
goin'  to  hurt  'em,  bad!  They  set  a  heap  of 
store  by  them  bears — 'special  the  Prodigal — 
poor  little  fellow!  I  feel  right  bad  myself, 
and  I  was  only  here  two  nights.  Make  it  all 
the  worse  for  them,  being  all  on  account  of 
their  cussed  carelessness.  I  can't  see  how 
you're  a  bit  to  blame.  Only  I  do  think  you 
might  have  noticed  your  night  horse  didn't 
make  any  fuss.  Usual,  horses  are  scared  stiff 
of  bears.  But  they'd  got  plumb  used  to  these." 

"Didn't  keep  up  no  horse  that  night,"  said 
Bob  miserably. 

"Look  here!"  said  Hales.  "What's  the  use 
of  letting  them  other  fellows  know  anything 
about  it?  Mr.  Dines  and  me,  we  won't  tell. 
This  young  man  can  send  his  bearskins  over 
east,  Tularosa  or  somewhere,  and  keep  his  lip 
buttoned  up.  No  one  need  be  ever  the  wiser. 
Bears  change  their  range  whenever  they  get 
good  and  ready.  Nobody  need  know  but 
what  they  just  took  a  notion  to  light  out." 

"Say,  that's  the  right  idea!"  said  Johnny, 
brightening.  "That'll  save  a  heap  of  trouble. 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT  39 

Boys  are  liable  to  think  the  round-up  scared 
'em  out — as  might  happen,  easy.  That  ain't 
all  either.  That  plan  will  not  only  save  Hi 
and  Foamy  a  heap  o'  grief,  but  it  won't  be 
no  bad  thing  for  Bob  Gifford.  I'll  tell  you 
honest,  Bob — the  Bar  Cross  will  near  devil 
the  life  out  of  you  if  this  thing  ever  gets  out." 

"That's  good  dope,  kid,"  said  Hales  kindly. 
"No  use  cryin'  over  spilt  milk." 

"Let's  drop  it  then.  I'll  get  rid  of  the  bear 
hides." 

"That's  right.  Talkin'  about  it  only  makes 
you  feel  bad.  Forget  it.  Here,  I'll  give  you 
something  else  to  think  about.  You  two  seem 
to  be  all  right." 

Hales  drew  rein,  with  a  long  appraising 
look  at  the  younger  man.  It  seemed  to  satisfy 
him;  he  rode  a  little  to  one  side,  facing  a 
wooded  sugar-loaf  hill  in  the  middle  of  the 
rough  gap  leading  east  to  Rosebud.  He 
waved  his  hand.  A  crackling  of  brush  made 
instant  answer;  high  above  them  a  horseman 
came  from  cover  and  picked  his  way  down  the 
steep  hill. 

"Friend   of   mine,"    explained    Hales,    re- 


40  STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

turning.  "He  is  sort  of  watering  at  night, 
just  now.  No  hanging  matter — but  he 
wouldn't  have  showed  up  unless  I  waved  him 
the  O.  K.  And  he  is  sure  one  hungry  man. 
It's  for  him  I  bought  the  horse." 

Johnny  reflected  a  little.  This  was  no  new 
or  startling  procedure.  Besides  being  the 
most  lonesome  spot  in  a  thinly  settled  coun 
try,  with  a  desert  on  each  side,  and  with  Engle, 
thirty  miles,  for  next  neighbor,  the  horse  camp 
had  other  advantages.  It  was  situated  in  the 
Panhandle  of  Socorro  County;  a  long,  thin 
strip  of  rough  mountain,  two  townships  wide 
and  five  long,  with  Sierra  County  west,  Dona 
Ana  to  the  south,  Lincoln  and  Otero  on  the 
east;  a  convenient  juxtaposition  in  certain  con 
tingencies.  Many  gentlemen  came  uncom 
municative  to  the  horse  camp  and  departed 
unquestioned.  In  such  case  the  tradition  of 
hospitality  required  the  host  to  ride  afield 
against  the  parting  time;  so  being  enabled  to 
say  truly  that  he  knew  not  the  direction  of  his 
guest's  departure.  Word  was  passed  on;  the 
Panhandle  became  well  and  widely  known; 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT  41 

we  all  know  what  the  lame  dog  did  to  the 
doctor. 

But  Johnny  rubbed  his  nose.  This  thing 
had  been  done  with  needless  ostentation ;  and 
Johnny  did  not  like  Mr.  Hales7  face.  It  was 
a  furtive  face;  the  angles  of  the  eyes  did  not 
quite  match,  so  that  the  eyes  seemed  to  keep 
watch  of  each  other;  moreover,  they  were 
squinched  little  eyes,  and  set  too  close  to  the 
nose;  the  nose  was  too  thin  and  was  pinched 
to  a  covert  sneer,  aided  therein  by  a  sullen 
mouth  under  heavy  mustaches.  Altogether 
Mr.  Hales  did  not  look  like  a  man  overgiven 
to  trustfulness.  Johnny  did  not  see  any  reason 
why  Mr.  Hales'  friend  should  not  have  ridden 
in  later  and  with  more  reticence;  so  he  set 
himself  to  watch  for  such  reason. 

"My  friend,  Mr.  Smith,"  announced  Hales, 
as  Mr.  Smith  joined  them.  Mr.  Smith,  like 
the  others,  wore  belt  and  six-shooter;  also,  a 
rifle  was  strapped  under  his  knee.  He  was  a 
short  and  heavy-set  man,  singularly  carefree  of 
appearance,  and  he  now  inquired  with  great 
earnestness:  "Anybody  mention  grub?" 


42  STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

"Sure,"  said  Bobby.  "Let's  drift!  Only 
a  mile  or  so." 

We  all  went  to  the  ranch  next  day; 
Brown  augured  me  most  all  the  way; 
He  said  cowpunching  was  only  play, 

There  was  no  work  at  all. 
"All  you  have  to  do  is  ridef 

It's  just  like  drifting  with  the  tide " 

Lord  have  mercy,  how  he  lied! 

He  had  a  most  horrible  gall! 

The  walling  hills  were  higher  now.  The 
canon  fell  away  swiftly  to  downward  plunge, 
gravel  between  cut  banks.  Just  above  the 
horse  camp  it  made  a  sharp  double-S  curve. 
Riding  across  a  short  cut  of  shoulder,  Bob, 
in  the  lead,  held  up  a  hand  to  check  the  others. 
He  rode  up  on  a  little  platform  to  the  right, 
from  which,  as  pedestal,  rose  a  great  hill  of 
red  sandstone,  square-topped  and  incredibly 
steep.  Bobby  waved  his  hat;  a  man  on  foot 
appeared  on  the  crest  of  the  red  hill  and  zig 
zagged  down  the  steeps.  He  wore  a  steeple- 
crowned  hat  and  he  carried  a  long  rifle  in  the 
crook  of  his  arm. 

Johnny's  eyes  widened.     He  exchanged  a 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT  43 

glance  with  Hales;  and  he  observed  that 
Smith  and  Hales  did  not  look  at  each  other. 
Yet  they  had — so  Johnny  thought — one  brief 
glance  coming  to  them,  under  the  circum 
stances. 

Hales  pitched  his  voice  low. 

"You  was  lying  about  them  bears,  of 
course?" 

"Got  to  keep  boys  in  their  place,"  said 
Johnny  in  the  same  guarded  undertone.  "If 
them  bears  had  really  been  pets  do  you  sup 
pose  Fd  ever  have  opened  my  head  about  it?" 

"It  went  down  easy."  Hales  grinned  his 
admiration.  "You  taken  one  chance  though 
— about  his  night  horse." 

"Not  being  scared,  you  mean?  Well,  he 
hasn't  mentioned  any  horse  having  a  fit. 
And  I  reckoned  maybe  he  hadn't  kept  up  any 
night  horse.  Really  nothing  much  for  him 
to  do.  Except  cooking." 

"He  does  seem  to  have  a  right  smart  of 
company,"  agreed  Hales. 

Bob  returned  with  the  last  comer — a  gaunt, 
brown  man  with  a  gift  for  silence. 

"My  friend,   Mr.  Jones,"   Bob  explained 


44  STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

gravely.  "He  stakes  his  horse  on  that  hilltop. 
Bully  grass  there.  And  quiet.  He  likes 
quiet.  He  doesn't  care  for  strangers  a-tall — 
not  unless  I  stand  good  for  'em." 

The  camp — a  single  room,  some  fourteen 
feet  by  eighteen,  flat  roofed,  made  of  stone 
with  a  soapstone  fireplace — was  built  in  a 
fenced  yard  on  a  little  low  red  flat,  looped 
about  by  the  canon,  pleasant  with  shady  cedars, 
overhung  by  a  red  and  mighty  mountain  at 
the  back,  faced  by  a  mightier  mountain  of 
white  limestone.  The  spring  gushed  out  at  the 
contact  of  red  and  white. 

The  bunch  of  saddle  horses  was  shut  up 
in  the  water  pen.  Preparation  for  dinner 
went  forward  merrily,  not  without  favorable 
comment  from  Mr.  Smith  for  Bob's  three 
bearskins,  a  proud  carpet  on  the  floor.  Mr. 
Jones  had  seen  them  before ;  Hales  and  Johnny 
kept  honorable  silence  on  that  theme.  Hales 
and  Mr.  Smith  set  a  good  example  by  remov 
ing  belt  and  gun;  an  example  followed  by 
Bob,  but  by  neither  Johnny  nor  Mr.  Jones. 
The  latter  gentleman  indeed  had  leaned  his 
rifle  in  the  corner  beyond  the  table.  But  while 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT  45 

the  discussion  of  bearskins  was  most  animated, 
Johnny  caught  Mr.  Jones'  eye,  and  arched  a 
brow.  Johnny  next  took  occasion  to  roll  his 
own  eye  slowly  at  the  unconscious  backs  of 
Mr.  Hales  and  Mr.  Smith — and  then  trans 
ferred  his  gaze,  very  pointedly,  to  the  long 
rifle  in  the  corner.  Shortly  after,  Mr.  Jones 
rose  and  took  a  seat  behind  the  table,  with 
the  long  rifle  at  his  right  hand. 

"Well,  Mr.  Bob,"  said  Hales  when  dinner 
was  over,  "here's  your  thirty  dollars.  You 
give  Smith  a  bill  of  sale  and  get  your  pardner 
to  witness  it.  Me,  I'm  telling  you  good-by. 
Fm  due  to  lead  Smith's  discard  pony  about 
forty  mile  north  to-night,  and  set  him  loose 
about  daylight — up  near  the  White  Oaks  stage 
road.  Thank'ee  kindly.  Good-by,  all  1" 

"Wait  a  minute,  Toad,"  said  Smith  briskly. 
"I'll  catch  up  my  new  cayuse  and  side  you  a 
little  ways.  Stake  him  out  in  good  grass, 
some  quiet  place — like  my  pardner  here." 
He  grinned  at  Mr.  Jones,  who  smiled,  atten 
tive.  "I'll  hang  my  saddle  in  a  tree  and  hoof 
it  back  about  dark.  Safe  enough  here — all 
good  fellows.  And  I  sure  like  that  bear  meat. 


46  STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

To  say  nothing  of  being  full  up  of  myself  for 
society." 

"We'll  do  the  dishes,"  said  Johnny.  "Bob, 
you  rope  me  up  the  gentlest  of  my  hyenas  and 
we'll  slip  down  to  Puddingstone  presently." 

"Well,  good  luck  to  you,  Mr.  Dines,"  said 
Hales  at  the  door. 

"So  long." 

"That  horse  you've  got  staked  out,  Mr. 
Jones,"  said  Johnny,  when  the  others  were 
catching  horses,  "how  about  him?  I've  got 
a  private  horse  out  in  the  water  pen.  Shall 
we  swap?  Saddles  too?  You're  a  little  the 
biggest,  but  you  can  let  out  my  stirrups  a 
notch,  and  I  can  take  up  a  notch  in  yours,  up 
on  that  pinnacle  when  I  go  for  my  new  horse 
and  come  back — about  dark.  That  way,  you 
might  ride  down  the  canon  with  Bob.  I  think 
maybe — if  it  was  important — Bob  might  not 
find  the  horses  he  wants,  and  might  lay  out  to 
night.  And  you  might  tell  him  you  was  com 
ing  back  to  camp.  But  you  can  always  change 
your  mind,  you  know.  'All  you  have  to  do  is 
ride.' " 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT  47 

"This  is  right  clever  of  you,  young  man," 
said  Jones  slowly. 

"It  sure  is.     Your  saddle  any  good?" 

"Better'n  yours.  Enough  better  to  make  up 
for  the  difference  in  hosses,  unless  yours  is  a 
jo-darter.  My  hoss  is  tired." 

"He'll  have  all  fall  to  rest  up.  We'd  better 
trade  hats,  too.  Somebody  might  be  watchin' 
from  the  hills." 

"Them  fellows?"  Jones  motioned  toward 
the  water  pen  with  the  plate  he  was  drying. 

"Scouts,  I  guess.  Decoy  ducks.  More  men 
close,  I  judge.  Acted  like  it.  You  ought  to 
know." 

"It  ain't  noways  customary  to  send  two  men 
after  me,"  said  Jones. 

Johnny  nodded.  "You  don't  know  about 
Smithy  yet.  Let  me  wise  you  up."  He  out 
lined  the  trustfulness  of  Smithy.  "So  he  was 
all  labeled  up  for  an  outlaw,  like  a  sandwich 
man.  Putting  one  over  on  Bobby — him  be 
ing  a  boy.  Bobby  fell  for  it.  And  me,  just  a 
big  kid  myself,  what  show  did  I  have  with  two 
big  grown  men  smooth  as  all  that?  So  they 


48  STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

fooled  me,  too.  Smithy  said  'Toad'  once — 
notice?  Toad  Hales.  I've  heard  of  Toad 
Hales.  Socorro  way.  Big  mitt  man,  once. 
Skunk — but  no  fighting  fool.  Out  for  the 
dollar." 

"He  sees  some  several.  You're  takin'  right 
smart  of  a  chance,  young  fellow." 

"I  guess  I've  got  a  right  to  swap  horses  if 
I  want  to.  Hark!  They're  ridin'  up  the 
canon." 

"Well,  suh,  I'm  right  obliged  to  you,  and 
that's  a  fact." 

"I'm  not  doing  this  for  you  exactly.  I'm 
protectin'  the  Bar  Cross.  And  that's  funny, 
too,"  said  Johnny.  "I've  just  barely  signed 
up  with  the  outfit,  and  right  off  things  begin 
to  take  place  in  great  lumps  and  gobs.  More 
action  in  two  days  than  I've  seen  before  in  two 
years.  Here's  how  I  look  at  it:  If  anyone 
sees  fit  to  ride  up  on  you  and  gather  you  on 
the  square  I've  got  nothing  to  say.  But  I  hold 
no  candle  to  treachery.  You're  here  under 
trust.  I  owe  it  to  the  Bar  Cross — and  to  you 
— that  you  leave  here  no  worse  off  than  you 
came.  I  don't  know  what  you've  done.  If 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT  49 

it's  mean  enough,  I  may  owe  it  to  Johnny 
Dines  to  go  after  you  myself  later  on.  But 
you  go  safe  from  here  first.  That's  my  job." 

"And  I'll  bet  you'd  sure  come  a-snumV.  I 
judge  you're  a  right  white  man,  suh !  But  it's 
not  so  mean  as  all  that,  this  time.  Not  even  a 
case  of  'alive  or  dead.'  Just  'for  arrest  and 
conviction.'  So  I  guess  you'll  be  reasonably 
safe  on  the  hillside.  No  money  in  killing  you, 
or  me,  or  whoever  brings  my  hoss  off  of  that 
hill.  And  they'll  be  counting  on  gathering 
you  in  easy — asleep  here,  likely." 

'That's  the  way  I  figured  it — that  last." 

"But  how'll  you  square  yourself  with  the 
sheriff?" 

"I'll  contrive  to  make  strap  and  buckle  meet 
some  way.  Man  dear,  I've  got  to!" 

"Well,  then — I  owe  you  a  day  in  harvest. 
Good-by,  suh.  Jones,  he  pulls  his  freight." 

Johnny  brought  his  new  horse  and  saddle 
down  from  the  red  hill,  unmolested.  He  cut 
out  what  horses  he  wanted  to  keep  in  the 
branding  pen;  turned  the  others  loose,  his  new 
acquisition  with  them;  and  started  supper. 


50  STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

Mr.  Smith  joined  him  at  dark;  but  the  horse 
hunters  did  not  get  back.  Supper  followed, 
then  seven-up  and  conversation.  Johnny  fret 
ted  over  the  non-return  of  GifTord. 

"He  talked  as  if  he  knew  right  where  to 
lay  his  hand  on  them  horses,"  he  complained. 
"Wish  I  had  gone  myself.  Now  in  the  morn 
ing  I'll  have  to  be  out  of  here  at  daylight. 
That  bunch  I  got  in  the  pen,  I  got  to  take 
them  out  to  grass,  and  wait  till  Bob  comes — 
if  the  blame  little  fool  sleeps  out  to-night." 

"Oh,  he'll  be  in  purty  quick,  likely." 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Johnny  dejectedly. 
"I  had  to-morrow  all  figured  out  like  a  time 
table,  and  here  it's  all  gummed  up.  Listen. 
What's  that  in  the  yard — crunchin'?  Var 
mints,  likely.  When  I  was  here  last  we  used 
to  throw  out  beef  bones,  and  of  nights  we'd 
shoot  through  the  doorway  at  the  noise.  We 
got  eight  skunks  and  three  coyotes  and  a  fox 
and  a  tub.  Guess  I'll  try  a  shot  now."  He 
picked  up  his  revolver  and  cocked  it. 

"Hello,  the  house!"  said  a  hurried  voice 
outside. 

"Why,    it's    a    man!"    said    Johnny.     He 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT  51 

turned  his  gun  upon  Mr.  Smith.  "One  word 
and  you're  done,"  he  whispered.  His  eye 
was  convincing.  Smith  petrified.  Johnny 
raised  his  voice.  "Hello,  outside!  You  come 
near  getting  shot  for  a  skunk!  If  you  want 
supper  and  shelter  say  please  and  walk  out 
loud  like  a  man.  I  don't  like  your  pussy-foot 
ways." 

"Come  out  of  there — one  at  a  time — hands 
up!"  said  the  voice.  "We've  got  you  sur 
rounded.  You  can't  get  away!" 

"On  the  contrary,  we  are  behind  thick  walls, 
and  you  can  get  away  if  you're  right  quick 
and  immediate,"  said  Johnny.  "Inside  of 
a  minute  I'm  going  to  empty  a  rifle  out  there 
on  general  principles.  This  is  a  Bar  Cross 
house.  I  am  a  Bar  Cross  man,  where  I 
belong,  following  orders.  Half  a  minute 
more!" 

"You  fool!    This  is  the  sheriffs  posse!" 

"I  hear  you  say  it." 

"I  am  the  sheriff  of  Socorro  County,"  said 
another  voice,  "and  I  summon  you  to  sur 
render." 

"I  am  a  Bar  Cross  man  in  a  Bar  Cross 


52  STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

house,"  repeated  Johnny.  "If  you're  the 
sheriff,  walk  in  that  door  on  your  hind  legs, 
with  your  hands  up,  and  let  us  have  a  look 
at  you." 

"That's  Johnny  Dines  talking!"  said  a  third 
voice.  "Hello,  Dines!  This  is  me,  Bill 
Fewell!  Say,  this  is  the  sheriff  and  his  posse 
all  right!  Don't  you  get  in  wrong." 

"One  man  may  unbuckle  his  belt  and  back 
in  at  that  door,  hands  up.  If  you  can  show 
any  papers  for  me,  I  surrender.  While  I  give 
'em  the  quick  look,  the  man  that  comes  in  is 
a  hostage  with  my  gun  between  his  shoulder 
blades.  If  he  takes  his  hands  down  or  any 
body  tries  any  funny  business,  I'll  make  a  sieve 
of  him.  Step  lively!" 

"Dines,  you  fool,"  bawled  the  sheriff,  "I 
got  nothing  against  you.  But  I've  got  a  war 
rant  for  that  man  in  there  with  you,  and  I'm 
going  to  have  him." 

"Oh!"  A  moment's  silence.  Then  said 
Johnny,  in  an  injured  voice:  "You  might 
ha'  said  so  before.  I've  got  him  covered  and 
I've  taken  his  gun.  So  now  I've  got  one  gun 
for  him  and  one  for  the  hostage.  Send  in  one 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT  53 

man  walking  backward,  hands  up,  warrant  in 
his  belt — and  let  him  stop  right  in  the  door! 
No  mistakes.  If  the  warrant  is  right  you  get 
your  man.  Any  reward?'7 

"He's  a  stiff-necked  piece,"  said  Fewell. 
"But  he'll  do  just  what  he  says.  Here,  give 
me  your  warrant.  He  won't  hurt  me — if  you 
fellows  hold  steady.  If  you  don't,  you've 
murdered  me,  that's  all.  Hey,  Dines!  You 
stubborn  long-eared  Missouri  mule,  I'm  com 
ing,  as  per  instructions — me,  Bill  Fewell. 
You  be  carefull" 

He  backed  up  and  stood  framed  in  the  open 
door  against  the  lamplight.  Johnny's  hand 
flickered  out  and  snatched  the  warrant. 

"Why,  sheriff,  this  seems  to  be  all  right. 
Only  he  gave  me  a  different  name.  But  then, 
he  naturally  would.  Why,  this  warrant  is  all 
shipshape.  Hope  I  get  some  of  that  reward. 
Here's  your  man,  and  here  are  my  guns."  He 
appeared  at  the  door  and  tossed  his  guns  down. 
The  sheriff  crowded  by,  and  broke  into  a  bel 
low  of  rage. 

"You  fool!  You  blundering  idiot!  This 
is  one  of  my  posse!" 


54  STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

"What?"  Johnny's  jaw  dropped  in  pained 
surprise.  "He's  a  liar,  then.  He  told  me  he 
was  an  outlaw.  Don't  blame  me!" 

"You  hell-sent  half-wit!  Where's  that 
other  man — Jones?" 

"Oh,  him?  He's  down  the  canon,  sir.  He 
went  with  Bob  after  horses.  He  hasn't  got 
back  yet,  sir." 

"Dines,  you  scoundrel!  Are  you  trying  to 
make  a  fool  out  of  me?" 

"Oh,  no,  sir!  Impossible.  Not  at  all,  sir. 
If  you  and  your  posse  will  take  cover,  sir,  I'll 
capture  him  for  you  when  he  comes  back,  just 
as  I  did  this  one,  sir.  We  are  always  glad  to 
use  the  Bar  Cross  house  as  a  trap  and  the  Bar 
Cross  grub  for  bait.  As  you  see,  sir." 

"Damn  you,  Dines,  that  man  isn't  coming 
back!" 

Johnny  considered  this  for  a  little.  Then 
he  looked  up  with  innocent  eyes. 

"Perhaps  you  are  right,  sir,"  he  said 
thoughtfully. 

Long  since,  the  floods  have  washed  out  the 
Bar  Cross  horse  camp,  torn  away  pens  and  flat 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT  55 

/ 

and  house,  leaving  from  hill  to  hill  a  desolate 
wash  of  gravel  and  boulders — so  that  no  man 
may  say  where  that  poor  room  stood.  Yet 
youth  housed  there  and  hope,  honor  and 
courage  and  loyalty;  there  are  those  who  are 
glad  it  shall  shelter  no  meaner  thing. 


Ill 

"I  do  believe  there  shall  be  a  winter  yet  in  heaven — and  in 
hell."  — Paradise  and  the  Periscope. 

"Realism,  n.  The  art  of  depicting  nature  as  it  is  seen  by 
toads."  —  The  Devil's  Dictionary. 

"They  sit  brooding  on  a  garbage  scow  and  tell  us  how  bad 
the  world  smells."  — BERTON  BRALEY. 

66  TUST  round  the  block"  is  a  phrase 
J  familiar  to  you.  To  get  the  same 
effect  in  the  open  country  you  would 
say  "Thirty  miles"  or  sixty;  and  in  those  miles 
it  is  likely  there  would  be  no  water  and  no 
house — perhaps  not  any  tree.  Consider  now: 
Within  the  borders  of  New  Mexico  might  be 
poured  New  York,  New  Jersey,  Pennsylvania, 
Maryland,  Delaware.  Then  drop  in  another 
small  state  and  all  of  Chesapeake  Bay,  and  still 
New  Mexico  would  not  be  brimful — though 
it  would  have  to  be  carried  carefully  to  avoid 
slopping  over.  Scattered  across  this  country 
is  a  population  less  than  that  of  Buffalo — half 
of  it  clustered  in  six-mile  ribbons  along  the 
Rio  Grande  and  the  Pecos.  Those  figures  are 

56 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT  57 

for  to-day.  Divide  them  by  three,  and  then 
excuse  the  story  if  it  steps  round  the  block. 
It  was  long  ago;  Plancus  was  consul  then. 

Some  two  weeks  after  the  day  when  Johnny 
Dines  w.ent  to  horse  camp,  Charlie  See  rode 
northward  through  the  golden  September; 
northward  from  Rincon,  pocket  of  that  bil 
liard  table  you  know  of.  His  way  was  east  of 
the  Rio  Grande,  in  the  desperate  twisting 
country  where  the  river  cuts  through  Caballo 
Mountains.  His  home  was  beyond  the  river, 
below  Rincon,  behind  Cerro  Roblado  and 
Selden  Hill;  and  he  rode  for  a  reason  he  had. 
Not  for  the  first  time ;  at  every  farm  and  clear 
ing  he  was  hailed  with  greeting  and  jest. 

Across  the  river  he  saw  the  yellow  walls 
of  Colorado,  of  old  Fort  Thorne,  deserted 
Santa  Barbara.  He  came  abreast  of  them, 
left  them  behind,  came  to  Wit's  End,  where 
the  river  gnaws  at  the  long  bare  ridges  and 
the  wagon  road  clings  and  clambers  along  the 
brown  hillside.  He  rode  sidewise  and  sway 
ing,  crooning  a  gay  little  saddle  song;  to  which 
Stargazer,  his  horse,  twitched  back  an  inquir 
ing  ear. 


58  STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

Oh,  there  was  a  crooked  man  and  he  rode  a  crooked 
mile 

Charlie  See  was  as  straight  as  his  own  rifle; 
it  was  the  road  he  traveled  which  prompted 
that  joyful  saddle  song.  As  will  be  found 
upon  examination,  that  roistering  ditty  sorts 
with  a  joyful  jog  trot.  It  follows  that  Charlie 
See  was  not  riding  at  a  run,  as  frontiersmen 
do  in  the  movies.  It  is  a  great  and  neglected 
truth  that  frontiersmen  on  the  frontier  never 
ride  like  the  frontiersmen  in  films.  And  it 
may  be  mentioned  in  passing  that  frontiersmen 
on  frontiers  never  do  anything  at  all  re 
sembling  as  to  motive,  method  or  result  those 
things  which  frontiersmen  do  in  films.  And 
that  is  the  truth. 

The  actual  facts  are  quite  simple  and  jolly. 
In  pursuit  of  wild  stock,  men  run  their  horses 
at  top  speed  for  as  short  a  time  as  may  be  con 
trived  ;  not  to  make  the  wild  stock  run  faster 
and  farther,  but  to  hold  up  the  wild  stock. 
Once  checked,  they  proceed  as  soberly  as  may 
be  to  the  day's  destination;  eventually  to  a 
market  Horse  or  steer  comes  to  market  in 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT  59 

good  shape  or  bad,  as  the  handling  has  been 
reckless  or  tender;  and  the  best  cowman  is  he 
whose  herds  have  been  moved  slowest.  At  ex 
ceptional  times — riding  with  or  from  the 
sheriff,  to  get  a  doctor,  or,  for  a  young  man 
in  April,  riding  a  fresh  horse  for  a  known  and 
measured  distance,  speed  is  permitted.  But 
the  rule  is  to  ride  slowly  and  sedately,  holding 
swiftness  in  reserve  for  need.  Walk,  running 
walk,  pace,  jog  trot — those  are  the  road  gaits, 
to  which  horses  are  carefully  trained,  giving 
most  mileage  with  least  effort.  Rack  and 
single-foot  are  tolerated  but  frowningly. 

The  mad,  glad  gallop  is  reserved  for  child 
hood  and  for  emergencies.  Penalties,  pro 
gressively  suitable,  are  provided  for  the  mad, 
glad  galloper.  He  becomes  the  object  of  side 
long  glances  and  meaning  smiles;  persistent, 
he  becomes  the  theme  of  gibe  and  jest  to  flay 
the  skin.  If  he  be  such  a  one  as  would  neither 
observe  nor  forecast,  one  who  will  neither 
learn  nor  be  taught,  soon  or  late  he  finds  him 
self  set  afoot  with  a  give-out  horse;  say, 
twenty-five  miles  from  water.  It  is  not  on 


60  STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

record  that  wise  or  foolish,  after  one  such 
experience,  is  ever  partial  to  the  sprightly 
gallop  as  a  road  gait.  Of  thirst,  as  of  "elo 
quent,  just  and  mightie  Death,"  it  may  be  truly 
said:  "Whom  none  could  advise,  thou  hast 
perswaded." 

The  road  wound  down  to  the  bottom  land 
for  a  little  space.    Then  sang  Charlie  See : 

Oh,  mind  you  not  in  yonder  town 
When  the  red  wine  you  were  filling 

You  drank  a  health  to  the  ladies  round 
And  slighted  Barbara  Allan? 

Followed  a  merry  ditty  of  old  days : 

Foot  in  the  stirrup  and  a  hand  on  the  hornt 
Best  old  cowboy  ever  was  born! 

Hi,  yi-yippy,  yippy-hi-yi-yif 

Hi-yi-yippy-yippy-yay  ! 

Stray  in  the  herd  and  the  boss  said  kill  it, 
Shot  him  in  the  ear  with  the  handle  of  the 

skillet! 

Hi,  yi-yippy,  yippy-hi-yi-yi, 

Hi-yi-yippy-yippy-yay  ! 

That  rollicking  chorus  died   away.     The 
wagon  road  turned  up  a  sandy  draw  for  a 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT  61 

long  detour,  to  cross  the  high  ridges  far  in 
land.  Stargazer  clambered  up  the  Drunk 
ard's  Mile,  a  steep  and  dizzy  cut-off.  High 
on  an  overhang  of  halfway  shelf,  between 
water  and  sky,  Stargazer  paused  for  breathing 
space. 

The  world  has  no  place  for  a  dreamer  of  dreams, 
Then  'tis  no  place  for  me,  it  seems, 
Dearie!  .  .  .  My  dearie! 

Echo  rang  bugle-brave  from  cliff  to  cliff, 
pealed  exulting,  answered  again — came  back 
long  after,  faint  and  far: 

"Dearie!  .  .  .  My  dearie!" 

He  looked  down,  musing,  at  the  swirling 
black  waters  far  below. 

For  I  dream  of  you  all  the  day  long! 
You  run  through  the  hours  like  a  song! 
Nothing's  worth  while  save  dreams  of  you, 
And  you  can  make  every  dream  come  true— 
Dearie!    My  dearie! 

Drunkard's  Mile  fell  off  into  the  valley  at 
Redbrush  and  joined  the  wagon  road  there. 
They  passed  Beck's  Ferry  and  Beneteau's; 
they  came  to  a  bridge  over  the  acequla  madre, 


62  STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

the  mother  ditch,  wide  and  deep.     Beyond 
was  a  wide  valley  of  cleared  and  irrigated 

farm  lands.    This  was  Garfield  settlement. 

•          •••••• 

You  remember  Mr.  Dick  and  how  he  could 
not  keep  King  Charles'  head  out  of  his 
Memorial?  A  like  unhappiness  is  mine. 
When  I  remember  that  pleasant  settlement 
as  it  really  was,  cheerful  and  busy  and  merry, 
I  am  forced  to  think  how  gleefully  the  super- 
sophisticated  Sons  of  Light  would  fall  afoul 
of  these  friendly  folk — how  they  would  pounce 
upon  them  with  jeering  laughter,  scoff  at  their 
simple  joys  and  fears;  set  down,  with  heavy 
and  hateful  satisfaction,  every  lack  and  long 
ing;  flout  at  each  brave  makeshift,  such  as 
Little  Miss  Brag  crowed  over,  jubilant,  when 
she  pointed  with  pride : 

For  little  Miss  Brag,  she  lays  much  stress 
On  the  privileges  of  a  gingham  dress— > 
A-ha-a!     O-ho-o! 

A  lump  comes  to  my  throat,  remembering; 
now  my  way  is  plain;  if  I  would  not  be  in 
comparably  base,  I  must  speak  up  for  my  own 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT  63 

people.  Now,  like  Mr.  Dick,  I  must  fly  my 
kite,  with  these  scraps  and  tags  of  Memorial. 
The  string  is  long,  and  if  the  kite  flies  high  it 
may  take  the  facts  a  long  way;  the  winds  must 
bear  them  as  they  will. 

Consider  now  the  spreading  gospel  of  de 
spair,  and  marvel  at  the  power  of  words — 
noises  in  the  air,  marks  upon  paper.  Let  us 
wonder  to  see  how  little  wit  is  needed  to  twist 
and  distort  truth  that  it  may  set  forth  a  lie. 
A  tumblebug  zest,  a  nose  pinched  to  sneer 
ing,  a  slurring  tongue — with  no  more  equip 
ment  you  and  I  could  draw  a  picture  of 
Garfield  as  it  is  done  in  the  fashion  of 
to-day. 

Be  blind  and  deaf  to  help  and  hope,  gay 
courage,  hardship  nobly  borne;  appeal  to 
envy,  greed,  covetousness ;  belaud  extrava 
gance  and  luxury;  magnify  every  drawback; 
exclaim  at  rude  homes,  simple  dress,  plain 
food,  manners  not  copied  from  imitators  of 
Europe's  idlesse;  use  ever  the  mean  and  mock 
ing  word — how  easy  to  belittle !  Behold  Gar- 
field — barbarous,  uncouth,  dreary,  desolate, 
savage  and  forlorn;  there  misery  kennels, 


64  STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

huddled  between  jungle  and  moaning  waste; 
there,  lout  and  boor  crouch  in  their  wretched 
hovels!  We  have  left  out  little;  only  the 
peace  of  mighty  mountains  far  and  splendid, 
a  gallant  sun  and  the  illimitable  sky,  tingling 
and  eager  life,  and  the  invincible  spirit  of 
man. 

Such  picture  as  this  of  Garfield  comme  il 
faut  is,  I  humbly  conceive,  what  a  great  man, 
who  trod  earth  bravely,  had  in  mind  when 
he  wondered  at  "the  spectral  unreality  of 
realistic  books."  It  is  what  he  forswore  in  his 
up-summing:  "And  the  true  realism  is  ... 
to  find  out  where  joy  resides  and*  give  it  a 
voice  beyond  singing." 

This  trouble  about  Charles  the  First  and 
our  head — it  started  in  1645,  I  think — needs 
looking  into. 

There  are  circles  where  "adventurer"  is  a 
term  of  reproach,  where  "romance"  is  made 
synonym  for  a  lie,  and  a  silly  lie  at  that. 
Curious!  The  very  kernel  and  meaning  of 
romance  is  the  overcoming  of  difficulties  or  a 
manly  constancy  of  striving;  a  strong  play 
pushed  home  or  defeat  well  borne.  And  it 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT  65 

would  be  hard  to  find  a  man  but  found  his 
own  life  a  breathless  adventure,  brief  and  hard, 
with  ups  and  downs  enough,  strivings  through 
all  defeats. 

Interesting,  if  true.  But  can  we  prove 
this?  Certainly — by  trying.  Mr.  Dick  sets 
us  all  right.  Put  any  man  to  talk  of  what 
he  knows  best — corn,  coal  or  lumber — and 
hear  matters  throbbing  with  the  entrancing 
interest  born  only  of  first-hand  knowledge. 
Our  pessimists  "suspect  nothing  but  what  they 
do  not  understand,  and  they  suspect  every 
thing" — as  was  said  of  the  commission  set  to 
judge  the  regicides  who  cut  off  the  head  of 
Charles  the  Martyr — whom  I  may  have  men 
tioned,  perhaps. 

Let  the  dullest  man  tell  of  the  thing  he 
knows  at  first  hand,  and  his  speech  shall  tingle 
with  battle  and  luck  and  loss,  purr  for  small 
comforts  of  cakes  and  ale  or  sound  the  bell 
note  of  clean  mirth ;  his  voice  shall  exult  with 
pride  of  work,  tingle  and  tense  to  speak  of 
hard-won  steeps,  the  burden  and  heat  of  the 
day  and  "the  bright  face  of  danger";  it  shall 
be  soft  as  quiet  water  to  tell  of  shadows  where 


66  STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

winds  loiter,  of  moon  magic  and  far-off  suns, 
friendship  and  fire  and  song.  There  will  be 
more,  too,  which  he  may  not  say,  having  no 
words.  We  prate  of  little  things,  each  to 
each ;  but  we  fall  silent  before  love  and  death. 

It  was  once  commonly  understood  that  it  is 
not  good  for  a  man  to  whine.  Only  of  late 
has  it  been  discovered  that  a  thinker  is  super 
ficial  and  shallow  unless  he  whines;  that  no 
man  is  wise  unless  he  views  with  alarm. 
Eager  propaganda  has  disseminated  the  glad 
news  that  everything  is  going  to  the  demni- 
tion  bowwows.  Willing  hands  pass  on  the 
word.  The  method  is  simple.  They  write 
very  long  books  in  which  they  set  down  the 
evil  on  the  one  side — and  nothing  on  the  other. 
That  is  "realism."  Whatsoever  things  are 
false,  whatsoever  things  are  dishonest,  whatso 
ever  things  are  unjust,  whatsoever  things  are 
impure,  whatsoever  things  are  of  ill  report; 
if  there  be  any  vice,  and  if  there  be  any  shame 
— they  think  on  these  things.  They  gloat 
upon  these  things ;  they  wallow  in  these  things. 

The  next  time  you  hanker  for  a  gripping, 
stinging,  roaring  romance,  try  the  story  of 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT  67 

Eddystone  Lighthouse.  There  wasn't  a  realist 
on  the  job — they  couldn't  stand  the  gaff.  For 
any  tough  lay  like  this  of  Winstanley's  dream 
you  want  a  gang  of  idealists — the  impractical 
kind.  It  is  not  a  dismal  story;  it  is  a  long 
record  of  trouble,  delay,  setbacks,  exposure, 
hardship,  death  and  danger,  failure,  humilia 
tion,  jeers,  disaster  and  ruin.  Crippled 
idealists  were  common  in  Plymouth  Harbor. 
The  sea  and  the  wind  mocked  their  labor; 
they  were  crushed,  frozen  and  drowned ;  but 
they  built  Eddystone  Light!  And  men  in 
other  harbors  took  heart  again  to  build  great 
lights  against  night  and  storm;  the  world 
over,  realists  fare  safelier  on  the  sea  for  Win- 
stanley's  dream. 

There  is  the  great  distinction  between  real 
ism  and  reality:  It  is  the  business  of  a  realist 
to  preach  how  man  is  mastered  by  circum 
stances  ;  it  is  the  business  of  a  man  to  prove  that 
he  will  be  damned  first. 

You  may  note  this  curious  fact  of  dismal 
books — that  you  remember  no  passage  to  quote 
to  your  friends.  Not  one.  And  you  per 
ceive,  with  lively  astonishment,  that  despair- 


68  STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

ing  books  are  written  by  the  fortunate.  The 
homespun  are  not  so  easily  discouraged. 
When  crows  pull  up  their  corn  they  do  not 
quarrel  with  Creation.  They  comment  on  the 
crows,  and  plant  more  corn. 

This  trouble  in  King  Charles'  head  may 
be  explained,  in  part,  on  a  closer  looking. 
As  for  those  who  announce  the  bankruptcy  of 
an  insolvent  and  wildcat  universe,  with  no 
extradition,  and  who  proclaim  God  the  Great 
Absconder — they  are  mostly  of  the  emerged 
tenth.     Their  lips  do  curl  with  scorn;  and 
what  they  scorn  most  is  work — and  doers. 
For  what  they  deign  to  praise — observe,  sir, 
for  yourself,  what  they  uphold,  directly  or  by 
implication.     See  if  it  be  not  a  thing  com 
pact  of  graces  possible  only  to  idleness.     See 
if  it  be  not  their  great  and   fatal  mistake 
that  they  regard  culture  as  an  end  in  itself, 
and  not  as  a  means  for  service.     Aristocracy? 
Patricians?     In   a  world  which  has  known 
the  tinker  of  Bedford,  the  druggist's  clerk  of 
Edmonton,  the  Stratford  poacher,  backwoods 
Lincoln,  a  thousand  others,  and  ten  thousand 
— a  carpenter's  son  among  them? 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT  69 

Returning  to  the  Provisional  Government: 
Regard  its  members  closely,  these  gods  ad 
interim.  The  ground  of  their  depression  is 
that  everybody  is  not  Just  like  Them.  They 
have  a  grievance  also  in  the  matter  of  death; 
which  might  have  been  arranged  better.  It 
saddens  them  to  know  that  so  much  excellence 
as  theirs  should  perish  from  the  earth.  The 
skeptic  is  slacker,  too;  excusing  himself  from 
the  hardships  of  right  living  by  pleading  the 
futility  of  effort. 

Unfair?  Of  course  I  am  unfair;  all  this 
is  assumption  without  knowledge,  a  malicious 
imputation  of  the  worst  possible  motives, 
judgment  from  a  part.  It  is  their  own 
method. 

A  wise  word  was  said  of  late :  "There  are 
poor  colonels,  but  no  poor  regiments."  It 
would  be  truer  to  change  a  word ;  to  say  that 
there  are  poor  soldiers,  but  no  poor  regiments. 
The  gloomster  picks  the  poorest  soldier  he  can 
find,  and  holds  him  up  to  our  eyes  as  a  sample. 
"This  is  life!"  says  the  pessimist,  proud  at  last. 
"Now  you  see  the  stuff  your  regiments  are 
made  of  I" 


70  STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

If  one  of  these  pallbearers  should  write  a 
treatise  on  pomology  he  would  dwell  lovingly 
on  apple-tree  borers,  blight  and  pest  and  scale. 
He  would  say  no  word  of  spray  or  pruning;  he 
would  scoff  at  the  glory  of  apple  blossoms  as 
the  rosy  illusion  of  romance;  and  he  would 
resolutely  suppress  all  mention  of — apples. 
But  he  would  feature  hard  cider,  for  all  that; 
and  he  would  revel  in  cankerworms. 

These  blighters  and  borers — figuratively 
speaking — when  the  curse  of  the  bottle  is  upon 
them — the  ink  bottle — they  weave  ugly  words 
to  ugly  phrases  for  ugly  books  about  ugly 
things;  with  ugly  thoughts  of  ugly  deeds  they 
chronicle  life  and  men  as  dreary,  sordid,  base, 
squalid,  paltry,  tawdry,  mean,  dismal,  dull  and 
dull  again,  interminably  dull — vile,  flat,  stale, 
unprofitable  and  insipid.  No  splendid  folly 
or  valiant  sin — much  less  impracticable  ideal 
isms,  such  as  kindness,  generosity,  faith,  for 
giveness,  courage,  honor,  friendship,  love;  no 
charm  or  joy  or  beauty,  no  ardors  that  flame 
and  glow.  They  show  forth  a  world  of  beast 
liness  and  bankruptcy;  they  picture  life  as  a 
purposeless  hell. 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT  71 

I  beg  of  you,  sir,  do  not  permit  yourself  to 
be  alarmed.  What  you  hear  is  but  the  back 
door  gossip  of  the  world.  And  these  people 
do  not  get  enough  exercise.  Their  livers  are 
torpid.  Some  of  them,  poor  fellows,  are  quite 
sincere — and  some  are  merely  in  the  fashion. 
It  isn't  true,  you  know;  not  of  all  of  us,  all 
the  time.  Nothing  is  changed;  there  is  no 
shadow  but  proves  the  light;  in  the  farthest 
world  of  any  universe,  in  the  latest  eternity 
you  choose  to  mention,  it  will  still  be  playing 
the  game  to  run  out  your  hits;  and  there,  as 
here,  only  the  shirker  will  lie  down  on  the  job. 

In  the  meantime,  now  and  here,  there  are 
two  things,  and  two  only,  that  a  man  may  do 
with  his  ideals:  He  may  hold  and  shape 
them,  or  tread  them  under  foot;  ripen  or  rot. 

What,  sir,  the  hills  are  steep,  the  sand  heavy, 
the  mire  is  Despond-deep ;  for  that  reason  will 
you  choose  a  balky  horse  ?  Or  will  you  follow 
a  leader  who  plans  surrender? 

The  bookshelviki  have  thrown  away  the 
sword  before  the  fight.  They  shriek  a  shame 
ful  message:  "All  is  lostl  Save  yourselves 
who  canl" 


72  STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

The  battle  is  sore  upon  us ;  true.  But  there 
is  another  war  cry  than  this.  It  was  born  of 
a  bitter  hour;  it  was  nobly  boasted,  and  brave 
men  made  it  good.  Now,  and  for  all  time  to 
come,  as  the  lost  and  furious  fight  reels  by, 
men  will  turn  and  turn  again  for  the  watch 
word  of  Verdun:  "They  shall  not  pass! 
They  shall  not  pass!" 

Pardon  the  pontifical  character  of  these  re 
marks.  They  come  tardy  off.  For  years  I 
have  kept  a  safe  and  shameful  silence  when  I 
should  have  been  shouting,  "Janet!  Don 
keys!"  and  throwing  things.  I  will  be  high 
brow-beaten  no  longer.  I  hereby  resign  from 
the  choir  inaudible.  Modesty  may  go  hang 
and  prudence  be  jiggered;  I  wear  Little  Miss 
Brag's  colors  for  favor;  I  have  cut  me  an 
ellum  gad,  and  I  mean  to  use  it  on  the  seat 
of  the  scorner. 

"Everything  in  Nature  is  engaged  in  writ 
ing  its  own  history."  So  says  Emerson  or 
somebody.  Here  is  the  roll  call  of  that  lone 
some  bit  between  the  Rio  Grande  and  Ca- 
ballo  Mountain.  Salem,  Garfield,  Donahue's, 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT  73 

Derry  and  Shandon;  those  were  the  hamlets 
of  the  east  side.  Sound  Irish,  don't  they? 
They  were  just  what  they  sound  like,  at  first. 
A  few  Irish  families,  big  families,  half  of 
them  girls — Irish  girls;  young  gentlemen  with 
a  fancy  to  settle  down  settled  right  there  or 
thereabouts.  That's  a  quick  way  to  start 
settlements.  There  was  also  a  sardonic  Green 
horn,  to  keep  alive  a  memory  of  the  old-time 
Texans,  before  the  fences.  A  hundred  years 
older  than  Greenhorn  was  the  old  Mexican 
outpost,  San  Ysidro;  ruthlessly  changed  to 
Garfield  when  the  Mississippi  Valley  moved 
in.  Transportation  was  the  poorest  ever;  this 
was  the  last-won  farm  land  of  New  Mexico. 

Along  with  snakes,  centipedes,  little  yellow 
bobcats,  whisky,  poker,  maybe  a  beef  or  two 
— there  were  other  features  worthy  of  note. 
Each  man  had  to  be  cook,  housekeeper,  hunter, 
laundryman,  shoemaker,  blacksmith,  book 
keeper,  purchasing  agent,  miner,  mason,  nurse, 
doctor,  gravedigger,  interpreter,  surveyor, 
tailor,  jailor,  judge,  jury  and  sheriff.  Having 
no  sea  handy,  he  was  seldom  a  sailorman. 

A  man  who  could   do   these   things  well 


74  STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

enough  to  make  them  work  might  be  illiterate, 
but  he  couldn't  be  ignorant,  not  on  a  bet.  It 
wasn't  possible.  He  knew  too  much.  He  had 
to  do  his  own  thinking.  There  was  no  one 
else  to  do  it  for  him.  And  he  could  not  be 
wretched.  He  was  too  busy.  "We  may  be 
poor  sinners,  but  we're  not  miserable" — that 
was  a  favorite  saying.  When  they  brought  in 
supplies  or  when  they  packed  for  a  long  trip, 
they  learned  foresight  and  imagination.  A 
right  good  college,  the  frontier;  there  are 
many  who  are  proud  of  that  degree. 

It  is  easy  to  be  hospitable,  kindly  and  free 
hearted  in  a  thinly  settled  country;  it  is  your 
turn  next,  you  know  generosity  from  both 
sides;  the  Golden  Rule  has  no  chance  to  get 
rusty.  So  they  were  pleasant  and  friendly 
people.  They  learned  cooperation  by  making 
wagon  roads  together,  by  making  dams  and 
big  irrigation  ditches,  and  from  the  round-ups. 
They  lived  in  the  open  air,  and  their  work  was 
hard,  they  had  health ;  there  were  endless  diffi 
culties  to  overcome;  happiness  had  a  long  start 
and  the  pursuit  was  merry. 

There   was   one   other   great  advantage — 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT  75 

hope.  They  had  much  to  hope  for.  Almost 
everything.  They  wished  three  great  wishes; 
Water  for  the  fields,  safety  from  floods,  a  way 
to  the  outside  world.  To-day  the  thick  and 
tangled  basques  are  cleared  to  smiling  farms, 
linked  by  a  shining  network  of  ditches.  The 
floods  are  impounded  at  Engle  Dam,  and  held 
there  for  man's  uses.  A  great  irrigation  canal 
keeps  high  and  wide,  with  just  fall  enough  to 
move  the  water;  each  foot  saved  of  high  level 
means  added  miles  of  reclaimed  land  under 
the  ditch.  To  a  stranger's  eye  the  water  of 
that  ditch  runs  clearly  uphill.  To  hold  that 
high  level  the  main  ditch,  which  is  first  taken 
out  to  serve  the  west  side,  crosses  the  Rio 
Grande  on  a  high  flume  to  Derry;  curves  high 
and  winding  about  the  wide  farm  lands  of 
Garfield  valley;  is  siphoned  under  the  river 
for  Hatch  and  Rodey,  and  then  is  siphoned 
once  again  to  the  east  side,  to  break  out  in  the 
sunlight  for  the  use  of  Rincon  Valley.  Rough 
and  crooked  is  made  smooth  and  straight;  safe 
bridge  and  easy  grade,  a  modern  highway  fol 
lows  up  the  valley,  with  a  brave  firefly  twin 
kling  by  night,  to  join  the  great  National  Trail 


76  STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

at  Engle  Dam.  This  is  what  they  dreamed 
amid  sand  and  thorn — and  their  dreams  have 
all  come  true.  Now  who  can  say  which  was 
better,  the  hoping  or  the  having? 

It  was  pleasant  enough,  at  least,  on  this  day 
of  hoping.  Stargazer  shuffled  by  farm  and 
farm,  and  turned  aside  at  last  to  where,  with 
ax  and  pick  and  team  and  tackle,  a  big 
man  was  grubbing  up  mesquite  roots.  Un 
heeded,  for  the  big  man  wrought  sturdily, 
Charlie  rode  close;  elbow  on  saddlehorn,  chin 
on  hand,  he  watched  the  work  with  mingled 
interest  and  pity. 

"There,"  he  said,  and  shuddered — "there, 
but  for  the  grace  of  God,  goes  Charlie  See!" 

The  big  man  straightened  up  and  held  a 
hand  to  his  aching  back.  His  face  was  brown 
and  his  hair  was  red,  his  eyes  were  big  and 
blue  and  merry,  and  his  big,  homely,  honest 
mouth  was  one  broad  grin. 

"Why,  if  it  ain't  Nubbins !  Welcome,  little 
stranger!  Hunting  saddle  horses — again?" 

"Why,  no,  Big  Boy—  I'm  not.  Not  this 
time." 

Big  Boy  rubbed  the  bridge  of  his  nose,  dis- 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT  77 

concerted.  "You  always  was  before.  Not 
horses?  Well,  well!  What  say  we  go  a- 
visitin',  then?"  He  squinted  at  the  low  sun. 
"I'll  call  this  a  day,  and  we'll  mosey  right 
home  to  my  little  old  shack,  and  wolf  down 
a  few  eggs  and  such.  Then  we'll  wash  our 
hands  and  faces  right  good,  catch  us  up  some 
fresh  horses  out  of  the  pasture,  and  terrapin 
up  the  road  a  stretch.  Bully  big  moonlight 
night."  He  began  unhooking  his  team. 

"Fine!  I  just  love  to  ride.  Only  came 
about  fifty  miles  to-day,  too." 

"I  was  thinkin'  some  of  droppin'  in  on  old 
man  Fenderson.  I  ain't  been  over  there  since 
last  night.  Goalie!  You,  Zip!  Ged-dap!" 

"Mr.  Adam  Forbes,"  said  Charlie,  "I've  got 
you  by  the  foot!" 

"Now  if  you  was  wishful  of  any  relaxa 
tions,"  said  Adam  after  supper,  "you  might 
side  me  up  in  the  feet  hills  to-morrow,  pros- 
pectin'." 

"I  might,"  said  Charlie;  "and  then  again  I 
mightn't.  Don't  you  go  and  bet  on  it." 

Adam    stropped    his    razor.     "You    know 


78  STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

there's  three  canons  headin'  off  from  Mac- 
Cleod's  Tank  Park?  And  the  farthest  one, 
that  big,  steep,  rough,  wide,  long,  high,  ugly, 
sandy,  deep  gash  that  runs  anti-gogglin'  north, 
splittin'  off  these  spindlin'  little  hills  from  the 
main  Caballo  and  Big  Timber  Mountain — 
ever  been  through  that?  'Pache  Canon,  we 
call  it — though  we  got  no  license  to." 

"Part  way,"  said  Charlie.  Then  his  voice 
lit  up  with  animation.  "Say,  Big  Chump, 
that's  it!  Them  warty  little  hills  here— that's 
what  makes  us  look  down  on  you  folks  the  way 
we  do.  And  here  I  thought  all  along  it  was 
because  you  was  splay-foot  farmers,  and  un 
fortunate,  you  know,  that  way  like  all  nesters 
is.  But  blamed  if  I  don't  think  it  was  them 
hills,  all  the  time.  We  got  regular  old  he- 
mountains,  we  have.  But  these  here  little  old 
squatty  hills  clutterin'  up  your  back  yard — 
why,  Adam,  they  ain't  respectable,  them  hills 
ain't — squanderin'  round  where  a  body  might 
stub  his  toe  on  'em,  any  time.  You  ought 
to  pile  'em  up,  Adam.  They  look  plumb 
shiftless." 

"That  listens  real  good  to  me.     You  got 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT  79 

more  brains  than  people  say."  Adam  scraped 
tranquilly  at  cheek  and  chin,  necessitating  an 
occasional  pause  in  his  speech.  "Now  you 
can  see  for  yourself  how  plumb  foolish  and 
futile  a  little  runt  of  a  man  seems  to  a  people 
that  ain't  never  been  stunted." 

"  'Seems'  is  a  right  good  word,"  said 
Charlie.  He  blew  out  a  smoke  ring.  "You 
sure  picked  the  very  word  you  wanted,  that 
time.  I  didn't  think  you  had  sense  enough." 

Adam  passed  an  appraising  finger  tip  over 
his  brown  cheek;  he  stirred  up  fresh  lather. 

"Yes,"  he  said  musingly,  "a  little  sawed  off 
sliver  like  you  sure  does  look  right  comical  to 
a  full-grown  man.  Like  me.  Or  Hob  Lull." 
He  paused,  brush  in  air,  to  regard  his  guest 
benignantly.  "I  wonder  if  girls  feel  that  way 
too?  Miss  Lyn  Dyer,  now?  Lull,  he  hangs 
round  there  right  smart — and  he's  a  fine,  big, 
upstanding  man."  He  lathered  his  face  and 
rubbed  it  in.  "First  off,  I  fixed  to  assassinate 
him  quiet,  from  behind.  You  know  them  two 
girls  don't  hardly  know  where  they  do  live — 
always  together,  Harkey's  house  or  Fender- 
son's.  So  I  mistrusted,  natural  enough,  that 


8o  STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

'ttvas  Miss  Edith  he  was  waitin'  on.  But  I 
was  mistook.  Just  in  time  to  save  his  life 
from  my  bloody  and  brutal  designs  he  began 
tolling  Miss  Lyn  to  one  side  to  look  at  sunsets 
and  books  and  such,  givin'  me  a  chance  to  buzz 
Miss  Edith  alone.  Good  thing  for  him. 
That's  why  I'm  lettin'  you  tag  along  to-night 
— you  can  entertain  Pete  Harkey  and  Ma 
Fenderson  and  the  old  man,  so's  they  won't 
pester  me  and  Hobby." 

"Like  fun  I  will!  If  you  fellows  had  any 
decent  feeling  at  all  you'd  both  of  you  clear 
out  and  give  me  a  chance." 

"Now,  deary,  you  hadn't  ought  to  talk  like 
that — indeed  you  hadn't!"  protested  Adam. 
"You  plumb  distress  me.  You  ought  to  de 
clare  yourself,  feller.  I'd  always  hate  it  if  I 
was  to  slay  you,  and  then  find  out  I'd  been 
meddlin'  with  Hobby  Lull's  private  affairs. 
I'd  hate  that — I  sure  would !" 

"Well  now,  there's  no  use  of  your  askin'  me 
for  advice."  Charlie's  eyebrows  shrugged, 
and  so  did  his  shoulders.  "You'll  have  to  de 
cide  these  things  for  yourself.  Say,  you 
mangy,  moth-eaten,  slab-sided,  long,  lousy, 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT  81 

lop-eared  parallelopipedon,  are  you  goin'  to 
be  all  night  dollin'  up?  Let's  ridel" 

"Don't  blame  you  for  bein'  impatient. 
Hob,  he's  there  now."  Face  and  voice  ex 
pressed  fine  tolerance;  Adam  looked  into  a 
scrap  of  broken  mirror  for  careful  knotting  of 
a  gay  necktie. 

"I  won't  be  sorry  to  see  Hob  once  more,  at 
that,"  observed  Charlie.  "Always  liked  Lull. 
Took  to  him  first  time  I  ever  saw  him.  That 
was  seven  years  ago,  when  I  was  only  a  kid." 

"Only  a  kid!  Only— Great  Caesar's  ghost, 
what  are  you  now?" 

"I'm  twenty-five  years  old  in  my  stocking 
feet.  And  here's  how  I  met  up  with  Lull. 
El  Paso  had  a  big  ball  game  on  with  Silver 
City,  and  Hob,  he  wanted  to  be  umpire.  No 
body  on  either  team  would  hear  of  it,  and  not 
one  of  the  fifteen  hundred  rip-roarin',  howlin' 
fans.  It  was  sure  a  mean  mess  while  it  lasted. 
You  see,  there  was  a  lot  of  money  up  on  the 
game." 

"And  who  umpired?" 

"Hob." 


IV 

"Money  was  so  scarce  in  that  country  that  the  babies  had  to 
cut  their  teeth  on  certified  checks." 

— Bluebeard  for  Happiness. 

"The  cauldrified  and  chittering  truth." 

— THE  ETTRICK  SHEPHERD. 

66    A    S   I  was  a-tellin'  you,  when  I  got 

^-\    switched  off,"  said  Adam,   in   the 

starlit  road,  "I  found  gold  dust  in 

Tache  Canon  nigh  onto  a  year  ago.     Not 

much — just  a  color — but  it  set  me  to  thinkin'." 

"How  queer!"  said  Charlie. 

"Yes,  ain't  it?  You  see,  a  long  time  ago, 
when  the  Taches  were  thick  about  here,  they 
used  to  bring  in  gold  to  sell — coarse  gold,  big 
as  rice,  nearly.  Never  would  tell  where  they 
got  it;  but  when  they  wanted  anything  right 
bad  they  was  right  there  with  the  stuff;  coarse 
gold.  All  sorts  of  men  tried  all  sorts  of  ways 
to  find  out  where  it  came  from.  No  go." 

"Indians  are  mighty  curious  about  gold," 
said  Charlie.  "Over  in  the  Fort  Stanton 
country,  the  Mescaleros  used  to  bring  in  gold 
that  same  way — only  it  was  fine  gold,  there. 
Along  about  1880,  Llewellyn,  he  was  the 
agent;  and  Steve  Utter,  chief  of  police;  and 

82 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT  83 

Dave  Easton,  he  was  chief  clerk;  and  Dave 
Pelman  and  Dave  Sutherland — three  Daves — 
and  old  Pat  Coghlan — them  six,  they  yam 
mered  away  at  one  old  buck  till  at  last  he 
agreed  to  show  them.  He  was  to  get  a  four- 
horse  team,  harness  and  wagon,  and  his  pick 
of  stuff  from  the  commissary  to  load  up  the 
wagon  with.  They  was  to  go  by  night,  and  no 
other  Indian  was  ever  to  know  who  told  'em, 
before  or  after — though  how  he  proposed  to 
account  for  that  wagonload  of  plunder  I  don't 
know.  I'll  say  he  was  a  short-sighted  Injun, 
anyway. 

"Well,  they  started  from  the  agency  soon 
after  midnight.  They  had  to  go  downstream 
about  a  quarter,  round  a  fishhook  bend,  on  ac 
count  of  a  mess  of  wire  fence;  and  then  they 
turned  up  through  a  cienaga  on  a  corduroy 
road,  sort  of  a  lane  cut  straight  through  the 
swamp,  with  the  tules — cat-tail  flags,  you  know 
— eight  or  ten  feet  high  on  each  side.  They 
was  going  single  file,  mighty  quiet,  Mister 
Mescalero-man  in  the  lead.  They  heard  just 
a  little  faint  stir  in  the  tules,  and  a  sound  like 
bees  humming.  Mister  Redskin  he  keels 


84  STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

over,  shot  full  of  arrows.  Not  one  leaf  mov 
ing  in  the  tules;  all  mighty  still;  they  could 
hear  the  Injun  pumping  up  blood,  glug — 
glug — glug!  The  white  men  went  back  home 
pretty  punctual.  Come  daylight  they  go  back, 
police  and  everything.  There  lays  their  guide 
with  nine  arrows  through  his  midst.  And 
that  was  the  end  of  him. 

"But  that  wasn't  the  end  of  the  gobbling 
gold.  Fifteen  years  after,  Pat  Coghlan  and 
Dave  Sutherland — the  others  having  passed 
on  or  away,  up,  down,  across  or  between — they 
throwed  in  with  a  lad  called  Durbin  or  some 
thing,  and  between  them  they  honey-swoggled 
an  old  Mescalero  named  Falling  Pine,  and 
led  him  astray.  It  took  nigh  two  months,  but 
they  made  a  fetch  of  it.  Old  Falling  Pine,  he 
allowed  to  lead  'em  to  the  gold. 

"Now  as  the  years  passed  slowly  by,  Lorena, 
the  Mescaleros  had  got  quite  some  civilized; 
this  old  rooster,  he  held  out  for  two  thousand 
plunks,  half  in  his  grimy  clutch,  half  on  de 
livery.  He  got  it.  And  they  left  Tularosa, 
eighteen  miles  below  the  agency,  and  ten  miles 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT  85 

off  the  reservation,  about  nine  o'clock  of  a  fine 
Saturday  night. 

"Well,  sir,  four  miles  above  Tularosa  the 
wagon  road  drops  off  the  mesa  down  to  a  little 
swale  between  a  sandstone  cliff  and  Tularosa 
Creek.  They  turned  a  corner,  and  there  was 
nine  big  bucks,  wrapped  up  in  blankets,  heads 
and  all!  There  wasn't  no  arrows,  and  there 
wasn't  nothing  said.  Not  a  word.  Those 
nine  bucks  moved  up  beside  Falling  Pine,  real 
slow,  one  at  a  time.  Each  one  leaned  close, 
pulled  up  a  flap  of  the  blanket,  and  looked  old 
Falling  Pine  in  the  eye,  nose  to  nose.  Then 
he  wrapped  his  blanket  back  over  his  face  and 
faded  away.  That  was  all. 

"It  was  a  great  plenty.  The  plot  thinned 
right  there.  Falling  Pine,  he  handed  back 
that  thousand  dollars  advance  money,  like  it 
was  hot,  and  he  beat  it  for  Tularosa.  They 
wanted  him  to  try  again,  to  tell  'em  where  the 
stuff  was,  anyhow;  they  doubled  the  price  on 
him.  He  said  no — not — nunca — nixy — neinte 
— he  guessed  not — nada — not  much — never! 
He  added  that  he  was  going  to  lead  a  better 


86  STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

life  from  then  on,  and  wouldn't  they  please 
hush?  And  what  I  say  unto  you  is  this: 
How  did  them  Indians  know — hey?" 

"Don't  ask  me,"  said  Adam.  "I've  heard 
your  story  before,  Charles — only  your  dead 
Injun  had  thirty-five  arrows  for  souvenirs, 
'stead  of  nine.  The  big  idea  was,  of  course, 
that  where  gold  is  found  the  white  man  comes 
along,  and  the  Indian  he  has  to  move.  But  all 
this  is  neither  here  nor  there,  especially  here, 
though  heaven  only  knows  what  might  have 
been  under  happier  circumstances  not  under 
our  control,  as  perhaps  it  was,  though  we  are 
all  liable  to  make  mistakes  in  the  best  regu 
lated  families;  yet  perhaps  I  could  find  it  in 
my  heart  to  wish  it  were  not  otherwise,  as  the 
case  may  be." 

"Nine  arrows!"  said  Charlie  firmly. 

"Young  fellow!"  said  Adam  severely.  "Be 
I  telling  this  story  or  be  I  not?  I  been  tryin' 
to  relate  about  this  may-be-so  gold  of  mine, 
ever  since  you  come — and  dad  burn  it,  you 
cut  me  off  every  time.  I  do  wish  you'd  hush ! 
Listen  now!  Of  course  there's  placer  gold 
all  round  Hillsboro;  most  anywheres  west  of 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT  87 

the  river,  for  that  matter.  But  it's  all  fine  dust 
— never  coarse  gold  beyond  the  river — and  it 
runs  so  seldom  to  the  ton  that  no  Injun  would 
ever  get  it.  So,  thinks  I,  why  not  look  in  at 
Apache  Canon?  It's  the  plumb  lonesomest 
place  I  know,  and  I  don't  believe  anybody  ever 
had  the  heart  to  prospect  it  good.  So  I  went 
up  to  Worden's  and  worked  up  from  the  lower 
end. 

"That  was  last  year,  and  I  have  been  prog- 
nosticatin'  round,  off  and  on,  ever  since, 
whenever  I  could  get  away  from  my  f armin'. 
I  found  a  trace,  mostly.  You  can  always  get 
a  color  round  here,  and  no  one  place  better 
than  another.  But  when  the  rains  begun  this 
year,  so  I  could  find  water  to  pan  with,  I  tried 
it  again,  higher  up.  And  in  a  little  flat  side 
draw,  leadin'  from  between  two  miserable  little 
snubby  hills  off  all  alone,  too  low  to  send  much 
flood  water  down — there  I  begun  to  find  float, 
plumb  promisin'.  I  started  to  follow  it  up. 
You  know  how — pan  to  right  and  left  till  the 
stuff  fails  to  show,  mark  the  edge  of  the  pay 
dirt,  go  on  up  the  hill  and  do  the  like  again. 
If  the  gold  you're  followin'  has  been  carried 


88  STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

down  by  water  the  streak  gets  narrower  as  you 
go  up  a  hillside,  and  pay  dirt  gets  richer  as  it 
gets  narrower.  If  the  hill  has  been  tossed 
about  by  the  hell  fires  down  below,  all  bets  is 
off  and  no  rule  works,  not  even  the  exceptions. 
That's  why  they  say  gold  is  where  you  find  it. 
But  any  time  you  find  a  fan-shaped  strip  of 
color  on  a  hill  that  looks  like  it  might  have 
stayed  put,  or  nearly  so,  it's  worth  while  to 
follow  it  up.  If  you  find  the  apex  of  that  tri 
angle  you're  apt  to  strike  a  pocket  that  will 
land  you  right  side  up  with  the  great  and 
good.  Sometimes  the  apex  has  done  been 
washed  away;  these  water  courses  have  run 
quite  elsewhere  other  times.  Oh,  quite!  But 
there's  always  a  chance.  Follow  up  a  narrow 
ing  color  and  quit  one  that  squanders  round 
casual.  Them's  the  rules. 

"Well,  sir,  my  pay  dirt  took  to  the  side  of 
that  least  hill,  and  she  was  shaping  right  smart 
like  a  triangle.  Then  my  water  give  out.  I 
was  usin'  a  little  tank  in  the  rocks — no  other 
without  packing  from  MacCleod's  Tank,  five 
mile.  And  I  had  to  get  in  my  last  cuttin'  of 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT  89 

alfalfa — pesky  stuff!  I  cached  my  outfit  and 
came  on  home. 

"So  there  you  are.  It's  been  rainin'  again ; 
and  I'm  goin'  out  and  try  another  whirl  to 
morrow,  hit  or  miss.  Go  snooks  with  you  if 
you're  a  mind  to  side  me.  What  say?" 

"Why,  Big  Chump,  you're  not  such  a  bad 
old  hoss  thief,  are  you?  Well,  I  thank  you 
just  as  much,  and  I  sure  hope  you'll  make  a 
ten-strike  and  everything  like  that;  but,  you 
see,  I'm  busy.  Tell  you  what,  Adam — you 
get  Hob  to  go  along,  and  I'll  think  about  it." 

"Oh,  well,  maybe  it's  a  false  alarm  anyway," 
said  Adam  lightly.  "I've  known  better  things 
to  fizzle.  I  get  my  fun,  whatever  happens. 
I  can't  stay  cooped  up  on  that  measly  old  farm 
all  the  time.  I  need  a  little  fresh  air  every  so 
often.  I'm  a  lot  like  Thompson's  colt,  that 
swum  the  river  to  get  a  drink." 

"Don't  like  farmin',  eh?" 

"Why,  yes,  I  do.  Beats  hellin'  round,  same 
as  a  stack  of  hay  beats  a  stack  of  chips. 
They're  right  nice  people  here,  Charlie, 
mighty  pleasant  and  friendly  and  plumb  cheer- 


90  STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

ful  about  the  good  time  coming.  And  every 
last  one  of  'em  is  here  because  this  is  the  very 
place  he  wants  to  be,  and  not  because  he  hap 
pened  to  be  here  and  didn't  know  how  to  get 
away.  That  makes  a  power  of  difference. 
They're  plumb  animated,  these  folks ;  if  so  be 
they  ain't  just  satisfied  any  place,  they  rise  up 
and  depart.  So  we  have  no  grand  old 
grouches.  All  the  same,  I'm  free  to  admit 
that  I  haven't  quite  the  elbowroom  I  need." 

"I  know  just  how  you  feel,"  said  Charlie; 
"I've  leased  a  township  and  fenced  it  in. 
That's  why  I'm  not  at  some  round-up;  all  my 
bossies  right  at  home.  And  dog-gone  if  I 
don't  feel  like  I  was  in  jail.  But  you  people 
can't  be  making  much  real  money,  Adam — 
hauling  over  such  roads  as  these.  It  is  forty 
miles  from  place  to  place,  in  here,  while  out 
in  the  open  it  is  only  thirty  or  maybe  twenty- 
five.  That's  on  account  of  the  sand  and  the 
curly  places.  And  then  you  have  nothing  to 
do  in  the  wintertime." 

"Well,  now,  it  ain't  so  bad  as  you'd  think — 
not  near.  We  raise  plenty  eggs,  chickens, 
pork  and  such  truck,  and  fruit  and  vegetables. 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT  91 

Lots  of  milk  and  butter,  too;  not  like  when 
we  didn't  have  anything  but  cows.  Some  of 
us  have  our  little  bunch  of  cattle  in  the  foot 
hills  yet,  and  fat  the  steers  on  alfalfa,  and  get 
money  for  'em  when  we  sell.  But  that  won't 
last  long,  I  reckon.  We're  beginning  to  grow 
hogs  on  alfalfa  and  fat  'em  on  corn,  smoke  'em 
and  salt  'em  and  cross  'em  with  T  and  ship  'em 
to  El  Paso.  I  judge  that  ham,  bacon  and  pork 
will  be  the  main  crops  presently. 

"Then  we  hurled  up  a  grist  mill  since  you 
was  here,  cooperative.  Hob,  he  got  up  that. 
And  we  got  a  good  wagon  road  through  the 
mountain,  to  Upham.  Goes  up  Redgate  and 
out  by  MacCleod's  Tank.  Steepish,  but  no 
sand ;  when  we  get  a  car  of  stuff  to  ship  we  can 
haul  twice  as  much  as  we  can  take  to  Rincon. 
We  can't  buy  nothing  at  Upham,  sure  enough, 
and  sometimes  have  to  wait  for  our  cars.  But 
we  can  have  stuff  shipped  to  Upham  from  El 
Paso,  and  it's  downhill  coming  back.  Also, 
Hobby  allows  this  Upham  project  will  ably 
assist  Rincon  to  wake  up  and  build  us  a  road 
up  the  valley." 

"Hobby  invented  this  wagon  road,  did  he?" 


92  STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

"Every  bit.  We  all  chipped  in  to  do  the 
work.  But  Hob  furnished  the  idea.  That 
ain't  all,  either.  From  now  on,  we're  going  to 
have  plenty  to  do,  wintertimes.  Mr.  See,  we 
got  a  factory  up  and  ready  to  start.  Yessirl" 

"Easy,  Big  Chump!  You'll  strain  your 
self." 

"Straight  goods — no  joking." 

"Must  be  a  hell  of  a  factory  1" 

"She's  all  right,  son.  A  home-grown  fac 
tory.  You  go  look  at  her  to-morrow.  Broom 
factory.  Yessir!  Every  man  jack  of  us 
raised  a  patch  of  broom  corn.  We  sell  it  to 
ourselves  or  buy  it  of  ourselves,  whichever  way 
you  like  it  best;  and  anybody  that  wants  to 
make  brooms  does  that  little  thing.  We  ship 
from  Upham  and  divvy  up  surplus.  Every 
dollar's  worth  of  broom  corn  draws  down  one 
dollar's  share  of  the  net  profit,  and  every  dol 
lar's  worth  of  labor  does  just  that — no  more, 
no  less.  It  works  out — with  good  faith  and 
fair  play." 

"Hob?"  said  Johnny. 

"That's  the  man."     Adam  Forbes  let  his 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT  93 

hand  rest  for  a  moment  on  the  younger  man's 
shoulder.  "Charlie,  you  and  me  are  all  right 
in  our  place — but  there  ain't  goin'  to  be  no 
such  place  much  longer.  I  reckon  we  ain't 
keepin'  up  with  the  times.  So  now  you  know 
why  I  wanted  you  should  go  prospectin'  with 
me.  Birds  of  a  feather  gather  no  moss." 

"I  judge  maybe  you're  right.  We  both  of 
us  favor  Thompson's  colt,  and  that's  a  fact. 
Well,  I  am  glad  old  Hob  is  making  good. 
We  had  as  good  a  chance  as  he  did,  only  he 
had  more  sense." 

"Always  did,"  said  Forbes  heartily.  "But 
he  ain't  makin'  no  big  sight  of  money,  if  that's 
what  you  mean.  Just  making  good.  He's  not 
working  for  Hob  Lull  especially.  He's  work 
ing  for  all  hands  and  the  cook.  Hob  always 
tries  to  get  us  to  work  together,  like  on  a 
'cequia.  There's  other  things — a  heap  of  'em. 
We've  bought  a  community  threshing  machine. 
Hob  has  coaxed  a  lot  of  'em  into  keeping  bees. 
And  he's  ribbin'  us  up  to  try  a  cannin'  factory 
in  a  year  or  two,  for  tomatoes  and  fruit.  And 
a  creamery,  later.  Hob  is  one  long-headed 


94  STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

young  people.  We  aim  to  send  him  to  repre 
sent  for  us  sometime." 

Charlie  See  laughed.  "Gosh!  I  wish 
you'd  hurry  up  about  it,  then." 

But  there  was  no  bitterness  in  his  mirth. 


"Never  pray  for  rain  on  a  rising  barometer." 

— Naval  Regulations. 

"Married  men  always  make  the  worst  husbands." 

—  The  Critic  on  the  Hearth. 

"Although,  contrary  to  his  custom,  he  had  a  lady  on  his 
knee,   he   instructed  the  young  prince   in   his   royal   duties." 

— ANATOLE  FRANCE. 

LYN  DYER  lived  with  Uncle  Dan  in  a 
little  crowded  house.     Across  the  way 
stood  a  big  lonesome  house;  there  Edith 
Harkey  lived  with  Daddy  Pete. 

Pete  Harkey  was  a  gentle,  quiet  and  rather 
melancholy  old  man;  Dan  Fenderson  was  a 
fat,  jolly  and  noisy  youth  of  fifty.  In  relating 
other  circumstances  within  the  knowledge  of 
the  Border  it  would  have  been  in  no  degree 
improper  to  have  put  the  emphasis  on  the 
names  of  those  two  gentlemen.  But  this  is 
"another  story" ;  it  is  fitting  that  the  youngsters 
take  precedence;  Lyn  Dyer  and  Uncle  Dan, 
Edith  and  her  father. 

Lyn  Dyer — Carolyn,  Lyn — had  known  no 
mother  but  Aunt  Peg.  The  crowding  of  the 
little  house  was  well  performed  by  Lyn's  three 
young  cousins,  Danjunior,  Tomtom  and  Peggy. 

95 


96  STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

The  big  house  had  been  lonesome  for  ten  years 
now.  Edith's  sisters  and  her  one  brother  were 
all  her  seniors,  all  married,  and  all  living 
within  eye  flight;  two  at  Hillsboro,  a  scant 
twenty-five  miles  beyond  the  river — but  the 
big  house  was  not  less  lonesome  for  that. 

The  little  crowded  house  and  the  big  lone 
some  house  were  half  way  between  Garfield 
post  office  and  Derry.  Both  homes  were  in 
Sierra  County,  but  they  were  barely  across  the 
boundary;  the  county  line  made  the  southern 
limit  of  each  farm.  This  was  no  chance  but 
a  choosing,  and  that  a  pointed  one ;  having  to 
do  with  that  other  story  of  those  two  old  men. 

In  Dona  Ana  County  taxes  were  high  and 
life  was  cheap.  Since  the  Civil  War,  Dona 
Ana  had  been  bedeviled  by  the  rule  of  profes 
sional  politicians.  Sierra — aside  from  Lake 
Valley  and  Hillsboro — had  very  little  ruling 
and  needed  less;  commonly  enough  there  was 
only  one  ticket  for  county  officers,  and  that  was 
picked  by  a  volunteer  committee  from  both 
parties.  Sierra  was  an  American  county,  and 
took  pride  that  she  had  kept  free  from  feuds 
and  had  no  bandits  within  her  borders.  Not 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT  97 

that  Mexicans  were  such  evildoers.  But 
where  there  was  an  overwhelming  Mexican 
vote  there  was  a  large  purchasable  vote; 
which  meant  that  purchasers  took  office. 
Unjust  administration  followed — oppression, 
lawsuits  and  lawlessness,  revenge,  bloodshed, 
feuds,  anarchy.  Result:  More  expense,  more 
taxes,  more  bribing,  more  bribers,  more  op 
pression  to  recoup  the  cost  of  officeholding. 
Caveat  pre-emptor — let  the  homesteader  be 
ware! 

That  unhappy  time  is  now  past  and  done 
with. 

"Lyn!  Lyn!  Edith!  Do  come  here  and  see 
what  Adam  Forbes  has  brought  in,"  grumbled 
Uncle  Dan.  "Another  cowboy,  and  you  just 
got  rid  of  Tom  Bourbonia.  It  does  beat 
all!" 

Mr.  Fenderson,  uttering  the  above  com 
plaint,  stood  on  his  porch  in  the  light  from 
his  open  door  and  struck  hands  with  two  men 
there ;  after  which  he  slapped  them  violently 
on  the  back. 

"Come  in!"  cried  Lyn  from  the  doorway. 
Her  eyes  were  shining.  She  dropped  a  curtsy. 


98  STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

"  'Come    in,    come   in — ye    shall    fare    most 
kind!"1 

"Don't  you  believe  Uncle  Dan,"  said  Edith. 
"We  tried  every  way  to  make  Tommy  stay 
over — didn't  we,  Lyn?" 

The  story  is  not  able  to  give  an  exact  record 
of  the  next  minutes.  Of  the  five  young  people 
• — for  Mr.  Hobby  Lull  was  there,  as  prophe 
sied — of  the  five  young  people,  five  were  talk 
ing  at  once ;  and  Uncle  Dan,  above  them  all, 
boomed  directions  to  Danjunior  as  to  the 
horses  of  his  visitors. 

"Daniel!  Stop  that  noise!"  said  Aunt  Peg 
severely.  "You  boys  come  on  in  the  house. 
Mr.  Charlie,  I'm  glad  to  see  you." 

"Now,  here !"  protested  Forbes.  "Isn't  any 
body  going  to  be  glad  to  see  me?" 

"But,  Adam,  we  can  see  you  any  time,"  ex 
plained  Edith.  "While  Mr.  See—" 

"Her  eyes  went  twinkle,  twinkle,  but  her 
nose  went  'Sniff!  Sniff!'"  said  Adam  dole 
fully.  "Excuse  me  if  I  seem  to  interrupt." 

"But  Mr.  See—" 

"Charlie,"  said  See. 

"But   Charlie   makes   himself   a   stranger. 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT  99 

We  haven't  seen  you  for  six  months,  Mr.  See." 
"Charlie,"     said     Mr.     See     again.     "Six 
months  and  eight  days." 

Mr.  Hobby  Lull  sighed  dreamily.  "Dear 
me !  It  doesn't  seem  over  two  weeks !" 

A  mesquite  fire  crackled  in  the  friendly 
room.  The  night  air  bore  no  chill ;  it  was  the 
meaning  of  that  fire  to  be  cheerful ;  the  wide 
old  fireplace  was  the  heart  of  the  house. 
Adam  Forbes  spread  his  fingers  to  the  blaze 
and  sighed  luxuriously. 

"Charlie,  when  you  build  your  house  you 
want  a  fireplace  like  this  in  every  room.  Hob, 
who's  going  to  sell  Charlie  a  farm?" 
"What's  the  matter  with  yours?" 
Adam  appeared  a  little  disconcerted  at  this 
suggestion.  "That  idea  hadn't  struck  me,  ex 
actly,"  he  confessed.  "But  it  may  come  to 
that  yet.  Lots  of  things  may  happen.  I 
might  find  my  placer  gold,  say.  Didn't 
know  I  was  fixing  to  find  a  gold  mine,  did 
you?  Well,  I  am.  I  wanted  Charlie  to  go 
snooks  with  me,  but  he  hasn't  got  time.  Me, 
I've  been  projectin'  and  pirootin'  over  the  pin 
nacles  after  that  gold  for  a  year  now,  and  I've 


ioo          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

just   about  got  it   tracked  -to   its   lair.     To 
morrow — " 

"Oh,  gold!"  said  Lyn  disdainfully,  and 
wrinkled  her  nose. 

"Ain't  I  told  you  a  hundred  times — 

Baby! 

Ain't  I  told  you  a  hundred  times, 
There  ain't  no  money  in  the  placer  mines? 
Baby!" 

"Lyn!  Wherever  do  you  pick  up  such  de 
plorable  songs?"  said  Aunt  Peg,  highly  scan 
dalized.  "But  she's  right,  Adam.  The  best 
gold  is  like  that  in  the  old  fable — buried  under 
your  apple  trees.  You  dig  there  faithfully 
and  you  will  need  no  placer  mines." 

White  Edith  turned  to  Charlie  See. 

"If  you  really  intend  to  buy  a  farm  here 
you  ought  to  be  getting  about  it.  You  might 
wait  too  long,  Mr.  See." 

"Charlie.  Exactly  what  do  you  mean  by 
that  remark,  my  fair-haired  child?" 

"Here!  This  has  gone  far  enough!"  de 
clared  Hob.  "We  men  have  got  to  stand  to 
gether — or  else  pull  stakes  and  go  where  the 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          101 

women  cease  from  troubling  and  the  weary 
are  at  rest  Don't  you  let  her  threats  get  you 
rattled,  Charlie  See.  We'll  protect  you." 

"Silly!  I  meant,  of  course,  that  the  Mexi 
cans  are  not  selling  their  lands  cheaply  now, 
as  they  used  to  do." 

"Not  so  you  could  notice  it,"  said  Uncle 
Dan.  "Those  that  wanted  to  sell,  they've  sold 
and  gone,  just  about  all  of  them.  What  few 
are  left  are  the  solid  ones.  Not  half-bad 
neighbors  either.  Pretty  good  sort.  They're 
apt  to  stick." 

"Not  long,"  said  Hobby  rather  sadly. 
"They'll  go,  and  we'll  go  too,  most  of  us.  The 
big  dam  will  be  built,  some  time  or  other; 
we'll  be  offered  some  real  money.  We'll  grab 
it  and  drift.  Strangers  will  take  comfort 
where  we've  grubbed  out  stumps.  We  are  the 
scene  shifters.  The  play  will  take  place  later. 
'Sail  right;  I  hope  the  actors  get  a  hand.  But 
I  hate  to  think  of  strangers  living — well,  in 
this  old  house.  Say,  we've  had  some  happy 
times  here." 

"Won't  you  please  hush?"  said  Adam. 
uWhy  so  doleful?  There's  more  happy  times 


102         STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

in  stock.  This  bunch  don't  have  to  move 
away.  Why,  when  I  get  my  gold  mine  in  ac 
tion  we  can  all  live  happy  ever  after.  To 


morrow — " 


"Hobby  is  right,"  said  Aunt  Peg.  "Pick 
your  words  as  you  please,  bad  luck  or  improvi 
dence  on  the  one  side,  thrift  or  greed  on  the 
other — yes,  and  as  many  more  words  of  praise 
or  blame  as  you  care  for;  and  the  fact  remains 
that  the  people  who  care  for  other  things  more 
than  they  do  for  money  are  slowly  crowded 
out  by  the  people  who  care  more  for  money 
than  for  anything  else." 

"Uncle  Dan,  is  that  why  you  grasping 
Scotchmen  have  crowded  out  the  Irish  round 
these  parts?"  inquired  Charlie.  "McClin- 
tock,  MacCleod,  Simpson,  Forbes,  Campbell, 
Monroe,  Fenderson,  Stewart,  Buchanan — why, 
say,  there's  a  raft  of  you  here ;  and  across  the 
river  it  is  worse." 

"You  touch  there  on  a  very  singular  thing, 
Mr.  Charlie.  Not  that  we  crowded  out  the 
Irish.  There  were  only  a  few  families,  and 
most  of  them  are  here  yet.  They  happened 
to  come  first,  and  named  the  settlements — 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          103 

that's  all.  But  for  the  Scotch — you  find  more 
good  Scots'  names  to  the  hundred,  once  you 
strike  the  hills,  than  you  will  find  to  the  thou 
sand  on  the  plain  country.  Love  of  the  hills 
is  in  the  blood  of  them;  they  followed  the 
Rocky  Mountains  down  from  Canada." 

"But,  Uncle  Dan,"  said  Hobby,  "how  did  so 
many  of  them  happen  to  be  in  Canada?" 

"Scotland  was  a  poor  country  and  a  cold 
country,  England  was  rich  and  warm,  Canada 
was  cold  and  hard.  The  English  had  no  call 
to  Canada,  the  Hudson  Bay  Company  cap 
tained  their  outflung  posts  with  Scotchmen; 
the  easier  that  the  Hanoverian  kings,  as  a 
matter  of  policy,  harried  the  Jacobite  clans  by 
fair  means  and  foul.  You  were  speaking  of 
across  the  river.  That  is  another  curious 
matter.  The  California  Company,  now — rul 
ing  a  dozen  dukedoms — California  lends  the 
name  of  it  and  supplied  the  money;  but  the 
heads  that  first  dreamed  it  were  four  long 
Scottish  heads.  And  their  brand  is  the  John 
Cross.  Any  stranger  cowman  would  read 
that  brand  as  J  Half  Circle  Cross.  But  we 
call  it  John  Cross.  And  why,  sirs?" 


io4         STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

"I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  said  Hobby.  "It 
was  always  the  John  Cross  and  it  never  entered 
my  head  to  ask  why." 

"Look you  there,  now!"  Uncle  Dan  held  out 
an  open  palm  and  traced  on  it  with  a  stubby 
and  triumphant  finger.  "Their  fathers  had 
served  John  Company,  the  Hudson  Bay  Com 
pany!  And  there  you  are  linked  back  with 
two  hundred  years!  'John  Company  has  a 
long  arm,'  they  said;  'John  Company  lost  a 
good  man  there  P  How  the  name  began  is  be 
yond  my  sure  knowing;  but  it  is  in  my  mind 
that  it  goes  back  farther  still,  to  the  East  India 
Company,  to  Clive  and  to  Madras.  Lyn,  you 
are  the  bookman,  I'll  get  you  to  look  it  up 
some  of  these — Lyn!  Lyn!  Charlie  See! 
The  young  devils!  Now  wouldn't  that  jar 
you?" 

"A  fool  and  his  honey  are  soon  started,"  ob 
served  Adam. 

"We're  out  here,  Uncle  Dan;  all  nice 
and  comfy.  There's  a  moon.  And  itty-bitsy 
stars,"  answered  a  soothing  voice — Charlie 
See's — from  the  porch.  "Oodles  of  stars. 
How  I  wonder  what  they  are.  G'wan,  Uncle 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          105 

Dan — tell  us  about  the  East  India  Company 


now." 


Hobby  Lull  rose  tragically  and  bestowed 
a  withering  glance  upon  Uncle  Dan.  "You 
old  fat  fallacy  with  an  undistributed  middle — 
see  what  youVe  done  now!  You  and  your 
John  Company!  Go  to  bed!  Forbes,  you 
brought  this  man  See.  You  go  home!" 

"Overlook  it  this  one  time,"  urged  Forbes. 
"Don't  send  us  away — the  girls  are  going  to 
sing.  Forgive  us  all  both,  and  I'll  get  rid  of 
See  to-morrow." 

"Be  sure  you  do,  then.     Lyn!     Come  here 


to  me." 


"Don't  shoot,  colonel,  I'll  come  down,"  said 
Lyn. 

Her  small  face  was  downcast  and  demure. 
Charlie  See  came  tiptoe  after  her  and  sidled 
furtively  to  the  fire. 

"Sing,  then,"  commanded  Hobby.  He 
brought  the  guitars  and  gave  one  to  each 
girl. 

The  coals  glowed  on  the  hearth;  side  by 
side,  the  fair  head  and  the  brown  bent  at  the 
task  of  tuning.  That  laughing  circle  was 


106          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

scattered  long  ago  and  it  was  written  that 
never  again  should  all  those  friendly  faces 
gather  by  any  hearthfire — never  again.  It 
has  happened  so  many,  many  times;  even  to 
you  and  to  me,  so  many,  many  times!  But  we 
learn  nothing;  we  are  still  bitter,  and  hard, 
and  unkind — with  kindness  so  cheap  and  so 
priceless — as  if  there  was  no  such  thing  as 
loss  or  change  or  death. 

And  because  of  some  hours  of  your  own, 
it  is  hoped  you  will  not  smile  at  the  songs  of 
that  lost  happy  hour.  They  were  old-fash 
ioned  songs;  indeed,  it  is  feared  they  might  al 
most  be  called  Victorian.  Their  bourgeois 
simplicity  carried  no  suggestive  double  mean 
ing. 

"When  other  lips  and  other  hearts" — that 
was  what  they  sang,  brown  Lyn  and  white 
Edith.  Kirkconnel  Lea  they  sang,  and  Jeanie 
Morrison,  and  Rosamond : 

Rose  o'  the  world,  what  man  would  wed 
When  he  might  dream  of  your  face  instead? 

Folly?  Perhaps.  Perhaps,  too,  in  a  world 
where  we  can  but  love  and  where  we  must 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          107 

lose,  it  may  be  no  unwisdom  if  only  love  and 
loss  seem  worth  the  singing. 

The  swift  hour  passed.  The  last  song,  even 
as  the  first,  was  poignant  with  the  happy  sad 
ness  of  youth : 

When  my  heart  is  sad  and  troubled, 
Then  my  quivering  lips  shall  say, 

"Oh!  by  and  by  you  will  forget  me, 
By  and  by  when  far  away!" 

Good-bys  were  said  at  last;  Forbes  and  See 
put  foot  to  stirrup  and  rode  jingling  into  the 
white  moonlight;  the  others  stood  silent  on 
the  porch  and  watched  them  go.  A  hundred 
yards  down  the  road,  Adam  Forbes  drew  rein. 
A  guitar  throbbed  low  behind  them. 

"Hark,"  he  said. 

Edith  Harkey  stood  in  the  shaft  of  golden 
light  from  the  doorway;  she  bore  herself  like 
the  Winged  Victory;  her  voice  thrilled  across 
the  quiet  of  the  moonlit  night: 

"Never  the  nightingale, 

Oh,  my  dear! 
"Never  again  the  lark 

Thou  wilt  hear; 
Though  dusk  and  the  morning  still 


io8         STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

Tap  at  thy  window-sill, 
Though  ever  love  call  and  call 
Thou  wilt  not  hear  at  allf 
My  deart  my  dear!" 

The  sad  notes  melted  into  the  sweet  pagan 
heartbreak  of  the  enchanted  night.  They 
turned  to  go. 

"A  fine  girl,"  said  Adam  Forbes.  "The 
only  girl!  To-morrow — " 

He  fell  silent;  again  in  his  heart  that  part 
ing  cadence  knelled  with  keen  and  intolerable 
sorrow.  The  roots  of  his  hair  prickled,  ants 
crawled  on  his  spine.  So  tingles  the  pulsing 
blood,  perhaps,  when  a  man  is  fey,  when  the 
kisses  of  his  mouth  are  numbered. 

Edith  went  home  to  the  big  lonely  house, 
but  Lyn  Dyer  and  Hobby  Lull  lingered  by 
the  low  fire.  Mr.  Lull  assumed  a  dignified 
pose  before  the  fireplace,  feet  well  apart  and 
his  hands  clasped  behind  his  back.  He  re 
garded  Miss  Dyer  with  a  twinkling  eye. 

"Have  you  anything  to  say  to  the  court  be 
fore  sentence  is  pronounced?"  he  inquired 
with  lofty  judicial  calm. 

Miss  Dyer  avoided  his  glance.     She  stood 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          109 

drooping  before  him;  she  looked  to  one  side 
at  the  floor;  she  looked  to  the  other  side  at 
the  floor.  The  toe  of  her  little  shoe  poked 
and  twisted  at  a  knot  in  the  floor. 

"Extenuating  circumstances?"  she  sug 
gested  hopefully. 

"Name  them  to  the  court." 

"The — the  moon,  I  guess."  The  inquisitive 
shoe  traced  crosses  and  circles  upon  the  knot 
in  the  flooring.  "And  Charlie  See,"  she  added 
desperately.  "Charlie  has  such  eloquent  eyes, 
Hobby— don't  you  think?" 

She  raised  her  little  curly  head  for  a  tenta 
tive  peep  at  the  court;  her  own  eyes  were 
shining  with  mischief.  The  court  unclasped 
its  hands. 

"I  ought  to  shake  you,"  declared  Hobby. 
But  he  did  not  shake  her  at  all. 

"You're  the  only  young  man  in  Garfield 
who  wears  his  face  clean-shaven,"  remarked 
Lyn  reflectively,  a  little  later.  "Charlie 
would  look  much  better  without  a  mustache, 
I  think." 

He  pushed  her  away  and  tipped  up  her 
chin  with  a  gentle  hand  so  that  he  could  look 


no          STEPSONS  OF;  LIGHT 

into  her  eyes.  "Little  brown  lady  with  curly 
eyes  and  laughing  hair — aflp  you  quite  fair  to 
Charlie  See?" 

"No,"  said  Lyn  contritelii  "I'm  not  I  sup 
pose  we  ought  to  tell  him."tf 

"We  ought  to  tell  everybody.  So  far  as  I 
am  concerned,  I  would  enjoy  being  a  sand 
wich  man  placarded  in  big  letters :  Troperty 
of  Miss  Lyn  Dyer.'  " 

"Why,  Hobbiest — I  thought  it  was  rather 
nice  that  we  had  such  a  great  big  secret  all 
our  own.  But  you're  right — I  see  that  now. 
I  should  have  met  him  at  the  door,  I  sup 
pose,  and  said,  'You  are  merely  wasting  your 
time,  Mr.  See.  I  will  never  desert  my  Wil- 
kinsP  Only  that  might  have  been  a  little 
awkward,  in  a  way,  because,  you  see,  'No 
body  asked  you  to,'  he  said — or  might  have 
said." 

"He  never  told  you,  then?" 

"Not  a  word." 

"But  you  knew?" 

"Yes,"  said  Lyn.  "I  knew."  She  twisted 
a  button  on  his  coat  and  spoke  with  a  little 
wistful  catch  in  her  voice.  "I  do  like  him, 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          in 

Hobby — I  can't  help  it.  Only  so  much." 
She  indicated  howipuch  on  the  nail  of  a  small 
finger.  "Just  a  Bftle  teeny  bit.  But  that 
little  bit  is — " 

"Strictly  plutorJc?" 

"Yes,"  she  sai*  in  a  small  meek  voice. 
"How  did  you  know?  He  makes  me  like 
him,  Hobbiest.  It — it  scares  me  sometimes." 

"Pretty  cool,  I'll  say,  for  a  girl  that  has 
only  been  engaged  a  week,  if  you  should  hap 
pen  to  ask  me." 

"Oh,  but  that's  not  the  same  thing — not  the 
same  thing  at  all!  You  couldn't  keep  me 
from  liking  you,  not  if  you  tried  ever  so  hard. 
That  is  all  settled.  But  Charlie  makes  me 
like  him.  You  see,  he  is  such  a  real  peo 
ple;  I  feel  like  the  Griffin  did  about  the 
Minor  Canon :  'He  was  brave  and  good  and 
honest,  and  I  think  I  should  have  relished 
him.' " 

Hobby  held  her  at  arm's  length  and  re 
garded  her  quizzically.  "So  young,  and  yet 
so  tender?" 

"  'So  young,  my  lord,  and  true.'  " 

"Well,"  said  Hobby  resignedly,  "I  suppose 


ii2          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

we'll  have  to  quarrel,  of  course.  They  all  do. 
But  I  don't  know  how  to  go  about  it.  What 
do  I  say  next?" 

"I  might  as  well  tell  you  the  worst,  angelest 
pief  ace.  You  ought  to  know  what  a  shocking 
horrid  little  creature  your  brown  girl  really 
is.  You  won't  ever  tell — honest-to-goodness, 
cross-your-heart-and-hope-to-die?" 

"Never." 

"Say  it,  then." 

"Honest-to-goodness,  cross-my-heart-and- 
hope-to-die." 

She  buried  her  face  on  his  breast.  "I 
dreamed  about  him  last  night,  Hobby. 
Wasn't  that  queer?  I  hadn't  thought  of  him 
before  for  months — weeks,  anyhow." 

"A  week,  maybe?"  suggested  Hobby. 

"Oh,  more  than  that!  Two  weeks,  at  the 
very  least.  I — I  hate  to  tell  you,"  she  whis 
pered.  "I — I  dreamed  I  liked  him  almost  as 
much  as  I  do  you!" 

"Why,  you  brazen  little  bigamist!" 

"Yes,  I  am — I  mean,  ain't  I?"  she  assented 
complacently,  for  his  arms  belied  his  words. 
"But  that's  not  the  worst,  Hobbiest — that's  not 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          113 

nearly  the  dreadfulest.  When  I  woke  up  I — 
I  wrote  some — some  verses  about  my  dream. 
Are  you  awfully  angry?  We'll  burn  them  to 
gether  after  you  read  them." 

"Woman,  produce  those  verses !  I  will  take 
charge  of  them  as  'Exhibit  A.'  " 

"And  then  you'll  beat  me,  please?" 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Hobby  magnanimously. 
"That's  nothing!  Pish,  tush!  Why,  Lino 
leum,  I  feel  that  way  about  lots  of  girls. 
Molly  Sullivan,  now — " 

"Hobby!" 

"I  always  like  to  dream  of  Molly.  One  of 
the  best  companions  to  take  along  in  a 
dream — " 

"Only-est!     Please  don't!" 

"Well,  then,"  said  Hobby,  "I  won't— on  one 
condition.  It  is  to  be  distinctly  understood 
under  no  circumstances  are  you  ever  to  call 
me  Charlie.  I  won't  stand  for  it.  Dig  up 
your  accursed  doggerel!" 

This  is  what  Hobby  Lull  read  aloud,  with 
exaggerated  fervor,  while  Lyn  huddled  by  the 
dying  fire  and  hid  her  burning  face  in  her 
hands: 


ii4          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

Last  night  I  kissed  you  as  you  slept. 

For  all  night  long  I  dreamed  of  you; 
Lower  and  low  the  hearth  fire  crept, 

The  embers  glowed  and  dimmed;  we  two 
Heard  the  wind  rave  at  bolt  and  door 

With  all  the  world  shut  out  and  fast, 
Doubted,  hoped,  questioned,  feared  no  more. 

And  all  we  sought  was  ours  at  last. 

I  do  not  love  you,  dear.     I  never  loved  you, 

Grudged  what  I  gave,  a  wayward  tenderness; 
Yet  in  my  dream  I  wooed  you  with  white  arms 

And  lingering  soft  caress. 
Now  for  all  years  to  come  I  must  remember, 

When  fires  burn  dim  and  low, 
This  false  dear  dream  of  mine,  that  stolen  hour — 

Yowr  face  of  long  ago. 

I  shall  awaken  in  some  midnight  lonely, 

I  shall  remember  you  as  one  apart, 
How  for  one  hour  of  dream  I  loved  you  only 

And  held  you  in  my  heart. 
And  you,  through  all  the  years  since  first  you  met  me 

Still  let  my  memory  gleam; 
Oh,  my  old  lover!     Do  not  quite  forget  mel 

1  loved  you — in  my  dream! 

Hobby    cleared    his    throat    impressively, 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          115 

tapped  his  table  with  the  paper,  and  assumed 
measured  judicial  accents. 

"This  incriminating  document  proves — hah 
—hum—" 

"To  the  satisfaction  of  the  court,"  prompted 
Lyn  in  a  muffled  voice. 

"To  the  satisfaction  of  the  court — I  thank 
you!  To  the  very  great  satisfaction  of  the 
court,  this  document,  together  with  the  bare 
faced  manner  in  which  you  have  brought  this 
evidence  to  the  cognizance  of  this  court — it 
proves,  little  Lady  Lyn,  that  you  are  compact 
all  of  loyalty  and  clean  honor — and  the 
sentence  of  this  court  is,  Imprisonment  for 
life!" 

He  held  out  his  arms,  and  the  culprit  crept 
gladly  to  prison. 


yi 

'Then  there  was  a  star  danc'd,  and  under  that  was  I  born." 

— Much  Ado  About  Nothing. 

COLE  RALSTON  rose  up  in  a  red  windy 
dawn;  he  cupped  his  hands  to  his  mouth 
and  called  out  lustily :  "Beds  1" 

All  around,  men  roused  up  in  the  half  dark 
ness  and  took  up  the  word,  laughing,  as  they 
dressed:  "Beds!  Beds!" 

The  call  meant  that  the  wagon  was  to  be 
moved  to-day;  that  each  man  was  to  roll 
bedding  and  tarp  to  a  hard  and  tight-roped 
cylinder,  and  was  then  to  carry  it  to  a  stack 
by  the  bed  wagon. 

The  cook  bent  over  pots  and  pans,  an  active 
demon  by  a  wind-blown  fire ;  here  already  the 
bobtail  ate  their  private  breakfast,  that  they 
might  depart  in  haste  to  relieve  the  last  guard 
— now  slowly  moving  the  herd  from  the  bed 
ground,  half  a  mile  away. 

Cole  moved  over  where  Johnny  Dines  was 
making  up  his  bed  roll. 

"Needn't  hurry  with  that  bed,  Johnny,"  he 

116 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          117 

said  in  an  undertone.  "You  move  the  wagon 
to  Preisser  Lake  this  mornin'.  Besides,  you 
may  want  to  hold  something  out  of  your  bed. 
You're  to  slip  away  after  dinner  and  edge  over 
towards  Hillsboro.  Help  Hiram  bring  his 
cattle  back  when  he  gets  ready.  Tell  him 
we'll  be  round  Aleman  all  this  week,  so  he 
might  better  come  back  through  MacCleod's 
Pass.  I  don't  know  within  fifty  mile  where 
the  John  Cross  wagon  is." 

Johnny  nodded,  abandoning  his  bed  mak 
ing.  "Bueno,  senor!"  He  took  a  pair  of 
leather  chaparejos  from  the  bed,  regarded 
them  doubtfully  and  threw  them  back. 

"Guess  I  won't  take  the  chaps.  Don't  need 
them  much  except  on  the  river  work,  in  the 
mesquite ;  and  they're  so  cussed,  all-fired  hot." 

"Say,  John,  you  won't  need  your  mount,  I 
reckon.  Just  take  one  horse.  Lot  of  our 
runaway  horses  in  the  John  Cross  pasture. 
You  can  ride  them — and  take  your  pick  for 
your  mount  when  you  come  back.  That's  all. 
Road  from  Upham  goes  straight  west  through 
the  mountains.  Once  you  pass  the  summit 
you  see  your  own  country." 


ii8         STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

"Got  you,"  said  Johnny. 

He  went  hotfoot  to  the  wagon,  grabbed  a  tin 
washbasin,  held  it  under  the  water-barrel 
faucet  and  made  a  spluttering  toilet — first  man, 
since  he  had  not  rolled  his  bed. 

The  bobtail  rode  off  at  a  laughing  gallop. 
Daylight  grew.  The  horse  herd  drew  near 
with  a  soft  drumming  of  trotting  feet  in  the 
sand.  Johnny  rustled  tools  from  the  stacked 
tin  plates  and  cups ;  he  stabbed  a  mighty  beef 
steak  with  his  iron  fork;  he  added  hot  sour 
dough  biscuit,  a  big  spoonful  of  hot  canned 
corn;  he  poured  himself  a  cup  of  hot  black 
coffee,  sat  down  on  one  of  his  own  feet  in  the 
sand,  and  became  a  busy  man. 

Others  joined  that  business.  The  last  guard 
came  in;  the  chattering  circle  round  the  fire 
grew  with  surprising  swiftness.  Each,  as  he 
finished,  carried  cup,  plate  and  iron  cutlery 
to  the  huge  dishpan  by  the  chuck  box,  turned 
his  night  horse  loose,  and  strode  off  to  the 
horse  herd,  making  a  noose  in  his  rope.  They 
made  a  circle  round  the  big  horse  herd,  a 
rope  from  each  to  each  by  way  of  a  corral  on 
three  sides  of  it;  night  wrangler  and  day 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          119 

wrangler,  mounted,  holding  down  the  fourth 
side.  Grumbling  dayherders  caught  their 
horses,  saddled  with  miraculous  swiftness  and 
departed  to  take  over  the  herd.  The  bobtail 
was  back  before  the  roping  out  of  horses  was 
completed.  While  the  bobtail  roped  out  their 
horses,  Johnny  and  the  two  wranglers  lured 
out  the  four  big  brown  mules  for  the  chuck 
wagon  and  the  two  small  brown  mules  for  the 
bed  wagon,  tied  them  to  convenient  soapweeds 
and  hung  a  nose  bag  full  of  corn  on  each 
willing  brown  head.  Last  of  all  the  horse 
wrangler  caught  his  horse.  The  night  wran 
gler  was  to  ride  the  bed  wagon,  so  he  needed 
no  horse. 

The  circle  of  men  melted  away  from  about 
the  horse  herd;  there  was  a  swift  saddling, 
with  occasional  tumult  of  a  bucking  rebel ;  the 
horse  herd  grazed  quietly  away;  the  wranglers 
went  to  breakfast;  even  as  they  squatted  cross- 
legged  by  the  fire  the  last  horse  was  saddled, 
the  Bar  Cross  outfit  was  off  to  eastward  to  be 
gin  the  day's  drive,  half  a  dozen  horses  pitch 
ing  enthusiastically,  cheered  by  ironical  en 
couragement  and  advice  bestowed  on  their 


120         STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

riders.  The  sun  would  not  be  up  for  half  an 
hour  yet.  Forty  men  had  dressed,  rolled  their 
beds,  eaten,  roped  out  their  day's  horses  in  the 
half  light  from  a  dodging  mob  of  four  hun 
dred  head,  saddled  and  started.  Fifty  minutes 
had  passed  since  the  first  call  of  beds.  The 
day  herd  was  a  mile  away,  grazing  down  the 
long  road  to  Preisser  Lake ;  at  the  chuck  box 
the  cook  made  a  prodigious  clatter  of  dish 
washing. 

The  Bar  Cross  had  shipped  the  north  drive 
of  steers  from  Engle;  the  wagon  had  then 
wandered  southward  for  sixty  miles  to  Fort 
Selden,  there  to  begin  the  south  work  in  a 
series  of  long  zigzags  across  the  broad  plain. 
This  was  the  morrow  after  that  day  on  which 
Charlie  See  had  ridden  to  Garfield. 

The  wagon  was  halfway  home  to  Engle 
now;  camped  on  the  central  run-off  of  the 
desert  drainage  system,  at  the  northmost  of 
the  chain  of  shallow  wet-weather  lakes — 
known  as  Red  Lakes — lying  east  and  south 
from  Point  of  Rocks  Hills.  Elsewhere  these 
had  been  considerable  hills ;  ten  or  fifteen  miles 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          121 

square  of  steepish  sugar  loaves,  semi-independ 
ent,  with  wide  straits  of  grassy  plain  wind 
ing  between;  but  here,  dumped  down  in  the 
center  of  the  plain,  they  seemed  pathetically 
insignificant  and  paltry  against  the  background 
of  mighty  hill,  Timber  Mountain  black  in  the 
west,  San  Andreas  gleaming  monstrous  against 
the  rising  sun. 

Theoretically,  the  Jornada  was  fifty  miles 
wide  here;  in  reality  it  was  much  wider;  in 
seeming  it  was  twice  as  wide.  From  Red 
Lakes  as  a  center  you  looked  up  an  intermin 
able  dazzle  of  slope  to  the  San  Andreas,  up 
and  up  over  a  broken  bench  country  to  Timber 
Mountain,  the  black  base  of  it  high  above  the 
level  of  Point  o'  Rocks  at  its  highest  summit; 
and  toward  the  north  looked  up  and  up  and  up 
again  along  a  smoother  and  gentler  slope  end 
ing  in  a  blank  nothingness,  against  which  the 
eye  strained  vainly. 

Johnny  sipped  another  cup  of  coffee  with 
the  wranglers ;  he  smoked  a  cigarette ;  he  put 
on  fresh  clothing  from  his  bed;  he  took  his 
gun  from  his  bed  and  buckled  the  belt  loosely 


122          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

at  his  waist.  His  toilet  completed,  he  rolled 
his  bed.  By  this  time  the  wranglers  had 
breakfasted. 

They  piled  the  bed  rolls  high  on  the  bed 
wagon  and  roped  them  tight  for  safe  riding; 
they  harnessed  and  hitched  the  two  small 
mules.  The  night  wrangler  tied  the  reins 
to  the  dashboard  and  climbed  to  the  top  of  the 
stacked  bedding. 

"You  see  that  these  mules  get  started,  will 
you,  Pat?  I'm  going  to  sleep.  They'll  tag 
along  after  the  chuck  wagon  if  you'll  start  'em 
once,"  said  the  night  wrangler.  Discipline 
did  not  allow  the  night  wrangler  a  name.  He 
stretched  out  luxuriously,  his  broad  hat  over 
his  face. 

Johnny  and  Pat — Pat  was  the  horse  wran 
gler — hitched  the  four  mules  to  the  chuck 
wagon,  after  which  Pat  rounded  up  his 
scattered  charges  and  drove  them  down  to  the 
lake  for  water. 

All  this  time  the  red-head  cook  had  been 
stowing  away  his  housekeeping,  exactly  three 
times  as  fast  as  you  would  expect  three  men  to 
do  it.  A  good  cook,  a  clean  cook,  swiftest  of 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          123 

all  cooks,  Enriquez — also  despot  and  holy 
terror  as  a  side  line.  Henry  was  the  human 
hangnail.  It  is  a  curious  thing  that  all  round 
up  cooks  are  cranks ;  a  fact  which  favors  reflec 
tion.  If  it  be  found  that  cooking  and  ferocity 
stand  in  the  relation  of  cause  to  effect,  a  new 
light  is  thrown  on  an  old  question. 

The  last  Dutch  oven  was  stowed  away,  the 
lid  of  the  chuck  box  snapped  shut  and  locked. 
Johnny  tossed  the  few  remaining  beds  up  to 
the  cook. 

"Do  we  fill  the  barrel  here,  Henry?" 

"No.  Dees  water  muddy.  Preisser  Lake 
she  am  deep  and  clean.  De  company  ees  buiP 
a  dam  dere,  yes.  Han'  me  dees  lines.  You 
Mag!  Jakel  Rattle  yo'  hocks!7' 

With  creaking  of  harness  and  groaning  of 
axle,  the  chuck  wagon  led  off  on  a  grass-grown 
road  winding  away  to  the  northwest,  a  faint 
track  used  only  by  the  round-up;  travel 
kept  to  the  old  Santa  Fe  trail,  to  the 
west,  beyond  the  railroad.  Johnny  started 
the  other  team.  Unguided,  the  bed  wagon 
jounced  and  bumped  over  grassy  hummocks 
until  it  reached  the  old  road  and  turned 


i24         STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

in  contentedly  at  the  tail  of  the  chuck  wagon. 
The  sleeping  wrangler  mumbled,  rolled  preca 
riously  on  his  high  lurching  bed,  and  settled 
back  to  sleep. 

Johnny  laughed  and  rode  ahead  to  help  Pat. 
They  drove  the  horses  in  a  wide  detour  round 
the  slow-grazing  day  herd.  But  the  chuck 
wagon  held  the  right  of  way  over  everything; 
when  it  came  to  pass  the  herd  an  hour  or  two 
later,  it  would  be  for  the  herd  to  swerve  aside. 

The  sun  was  high  and  hot  now;  Preisser 
Hill,  a  thin  long  shadow,  rose  dim  above  the 
plain;  Upham  tower  and  tank  loomed  high 
and  spectral,  ahead  and  at  the  left. 

"How  do  I  get  from  Upham  to  the  river, 
Pat?  I'm  new  to  this  country." 

"Wagon  road  due  west  to  MacCleod's 
Pass." 

"Can't  see  any  pass  from  here." 

"Naw.  You  slip  into  fold  between  the  hills, 
and  twist  round  like  a  figure  three.  Then  you 
come  to  a  big  open  park  and  MacCleod's 
Tank.  Three  draws  run  down  from  the  park 
to  the  river.  'Pache  canon,  the  biggest,  runs 
north  to  nowhere ;  Redgate,  on  the  left,  twists 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          125 

round  to  Garfield.  Wagon  road  goes  down 
Redgate.  And  Deadman  Draw,  in  between, 
bears  due  west  and  heap  down,  short  and 
sweet.  Riding?" 

"Yep.  Hillsboro.  The  middle  draw  will 
be  the  one  for  me,  then." 

By  ten  o'clock  they  watered  the  horse  herd 
at  Preisser  Lake ;  the  wagons  toiled  far  behind. 
Half  a  mile  away  they  picked  the  camp  site, 
with  a  little  ridge  for  wind-break,  soapweeds 
to  tie  night  horses  to,  wood  handy,  and  a  near 
by  valley  to  be  a  bed  ground  for  the  herd ;  a 
valley  wide,  open,  free  from  brush,  gully  or 
dog  holes. 

They  dragged  up  a  great  pile  of  mesquite 
roots  and  built  a  fire ;  Pat  went  to  watch  his 
horses  and  Johnny  returned  to  the  lake. 
Henry  drove  the  wagon  into  the  lake,  hub 
deep;  Johnny  stood  on  the  hub  and  dipped 
buckets  of  water,  which  he  handed  up  for  the 
cook  to  pour  into  the  barrel. 

While  these  two  filled  the  barrel  the  grum 
bling  night  wrangler  drove  on  to  the  fire ;  when 
the  slow  chuck  wagon  trundled  up,  the  night- 
hawk  had  unharnessed  his  span  of  mules, 


126         STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

spread  his  roll  in  the  cool  shade  under  the  bed 
wagon,  and  was  already  asleep.  The  cook 
tossed  down  the  odd  beds,  handed  down  to 
Johnny  certain  pots,  pans,  ovens;  he  jumped 
down — slap,  snap,  clatter,  flash! — the  ovens 
were  on  the  fire,  the  chuck  box  open,  flour  in 
the  bread  pan;  Henry  was  at  his  profession, 
mixing  bread  on  the  table  made  by  the  open 
lid  of  the  chuck  box,  upheld  by  a  hinged 
leg  which  fell  into  place  as  the  lid  tilted 
down. 

Johnny  unharnessed;  he  unrolled  a  tarp 
which  wrapped  a  quarter  of  beef,  and  hung 
the  beef  on  the  big  brake;  he  filled  the  ten- 
gallon  coffee  kettle  and  took  it  to  the  fire. 

"Henry,"  he  said  cautiously,  "can  you  let 
me  have  some  cold  bread  and  meat — enough 
for  night  and  morning?  I'm  for  Hillsboro. 
Goin'  to  make  a  dry  camp  beyond  the  river 
somewhere.  Hillsboro's  too  far  and  Garfield 
not  far  enough.  So  I  don't  want  to  stay  at  the 
settlements  to-night.  I'll  lay  out  and  stake  my 
horse,  I  reckon.  Got  to  find  the  John  Cross 
wagon  to-morrow,  and  it'll  take  me  all  my 
time — so  I  don't  want  to  wait  for  dinner." 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          127 

"Humph!"  With  a  single  motion  Henry 
flirted  a  shovelful  of  glowing  coals  from  the 
fire ;  a  second  motion  twisted  a  small  meat  oven 
into  place  over  those  coals.  A  big  spoonful 
of  lard  followed.  "Rustle  a  can  and  boil  you 
some  coffee.  Open  can  tomatoes;  pour  'em  in 
a  plate.  Use  can.  Ground  coffee  in  box — 
top  shelf.  I'll  have  bread  done  for  you  when 
coffee  boils!" 

While  he  spoke  his  hands  were  busy.  He 
dragged  from  the  chuck  box  a  dishpan  full  of 
steaks,  cut  the  night  before.  With  a  brisk  slap 
he  spread  a  mighty  steak  on  the  chuck  box 
lid,  sprinkled  it  with  salt,  swept  it  through  the 
flour  in  his  bread  pan  with  precisely  the  wrist- 
twisting  motion  of  a  man  stropping  a  razor, 
and  spread  the  steak  in  the  hissing  lard. 

"Cook  you  another  bimeby  for  night,"  he 
grunted,  and  emptied  his  sour-dough  sponge 
into  the  bread  pan.  A  snappy  cook,  Henry; 
on  occasion  he  had  built  dinner  for  thirty  men 
in  thirty  minutes,  by  the  watch,  from  the  time 
the  wagon  stopped — bread,  coffee,  steak  and 
fried  potatoes — steak  and  potatoes  made  ready 
for  cooking  the  night  before,  of  course. 


128         STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

Henry  had  not  known  he  was  being  timed, 
either ;  he  was  that  kind  of  a  cook. 

Johnny  gave  thanks  and  ate;  he  rolled  a 
substantial  lunch  in  a  clean  flour  sack  and  tied 
it  in  his  slicker  behind  the  saddle.  He  rode 
to  the  horse  herd ;  Pat  rounded  up  the  horses 
and  Johnny  snared  his  Twilight  horse  for  the 
trip.  Twilight  was  a  grullo;  that  is  to  say,  he 
was  precisely  the  color  of  a  Maltese  cat — a 
sleek  velvet  slaty-blue;  a  graceful,  half -wild 
creature,  dainty  muzzled,  clean  legged  as  a 
deer.  Pat  held  Twilight  by  bit  and  bridle  and 
made  soothing  statements  to  him  while  Johnny 
saddled.  Johnny  slid  into  the  saddle,  there 
was  a  brief  hair-stirring  session  of  bucking; 
then  Twilight  sneezed  cheerfully  and  set  off 
on  a  businesslike  trot.  Johnny  waved  good- 
by,  and  turned  across  the  gray  plain  toward 
Upham.  Looking  back,  he  saw  the  van  of  the 
day  herd  just  showing  up,  a  blur  in  the  south 
east. 

Six  miles  brought  him  to  Upham — side 
track,  section  house,  low  station,  windmill 
tower  and  tank;  there  was  a  deep  well  here. 
He  crossed  the  old  white  scar  of  the  Santa  Fe 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          129 

trail,  broad,  deep  worn,  little  used  and  half 
forgotten.  A  new  and  narrow  road  turned 
here  at  right  angles  to  the  old  trail  and  led 
ruler-straight  to  the  west.  Johnny  followed 
this  climbing  road,  riding  softly;  bands  of 
cattle  stirred  uneasily  and  made  off  to  left  or 
right  in  frantic  run  or  shuffling  trot.  The 
road  curved  once  only,  close  to  the  hills,  to 
round  the  head  of  a  rock-walled,  deep,  narrow 
gash,  square  and  straight  and  sheer,  reaching 
away  toward  Rincon,  paralleling  the  course  of 
the  mountains.  No  soft  water-washed  curves 
marked  that  grim  gash;  here  the  earth  crust 
had  cracked  and  fallen  apart;  for  twenty  miles 
that  gray  crack  made  an  impassable  barrier; 
between  here  and  the  bare  low  hills  was  a  No 
Man's  Land. 

Midway  of  the  twisting  pass  Johnny  came 
to  a  gate  in  a  drift  fence  strung  from  bluff  to 
bluff;  here  was  a  frontier  of  the  Bar  Cross 
country.  He  passed  the  outpost  hills  and 
came  out  to  a  rolling  open  park,  a  big  square 
corral  of  cedar  pickets,  an  earthen  dam,  a 
deep  five-acre  tank  of  water.  About  this  tank 
two  or  three  hundred  head  of  cattle  basked 


130         STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

comfortably  in  the  warm  sun,  most  of  them 
lying  down.  They  were  gentle  cattle ;  Johnny 
rode  slowly  among  them  without  stirring  up 
excitement.  "River  cattle — nester  cattle,"  said 
Johnny.  There  were  many  brands,  few  of 
which  he  had  seen  before,  though  he  had  heard 
of  most  of  them. 

A  fresh  bunch  of  cattle  topped  a  riverward 
ridge;  the  leaders  raised  their  heads,  snorted, 
turned  and  fled;  Twilight  leaped  in  pursuit. 
"Rivei  cattle — bosque  cattle — outlaws!"  said 
Johnny.  From  the  tail  of  his  eye,  as  Twilight 
thundered  across  the  valley,  Johnny  was  aware 
of  a  deep  gashed  canon  heading  in  the  north, 
of  a  notch  in  the  western  rim  of  the  saucer- 
shaped  basin,  and  a  dark  pass  at  the  left. 
The  cattle  turned  to  the  left.  Johnny  closed 
in  on  them,  taking  down  his  rope  from  the 
saddle  horn.  Twenty  head — among  them  one 
Bar  Cross  cow  with  an  unbranded  calf  some 
eight  or  ten  months  old.  Johnny's  noose 
whirled  open,  he  drove  the  spurs  home  and 
plunged  into  a  whistling  wind.  He  drew 
close,  he  made  his  cast  and  missed  it;  Twilight 
swerved  aside  at  the  very  instant  of  the  throw, 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          131 

the  rope  dragged  at  his  legs,  he  fell  to  frantic 
pitching.  Johnny  gathered  up  the  rope,  mas 
saged  his  refractory  mount  with  it,  brought 
him  to  reason;  in  time  to  see  a  dust  cloud  of 
cattle  drop  into  the  leftward  pass.  Twilight 
flashed  after.  As  they  dived  into  the  pass  they 
came  to  the  wagon  road  again. 

"This  is  Redgate,"  thought  Johnny. 

They  careened  down  the  steep  curves,  the 
cattle  were  just  ahead ;  Twilight  swooped  up 
on  them,  scattered  the  tailenders,  drove  ahead 
for  the  Bar  Cross  cow  and  her  long-ear.  A 
low  saddleback  pass  appeared  at  the  right,  a 
winding  trail  led  up  to  an  overhanging  prom 
ontory  under  the  pass;  below,  the  wagon  road 
made  a  deep  cut  by  the  base  of  the  hill.  Dis 
trusting  the  cut  road  as  the  work  of  man,  the 
leaders  took  to  the  trail.  Twilight  was  at 
their  heels;  at  the  crown  of  the  little  promon 
tory  Johnny  threw  again,  and  his  rope  circled 
the  long-ear's  neck.  Johnny  flipped  the  slack, 
the  yearling  crossed  it  and  fell  crashing; 
Johnny  leaped  off  and  ran  down  the  rope,  loos 
ing  the  hogging  string  at  his  waist  as  he  ran; 
he  gathered  the  yearling's  struggling  feet  and 


132          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

hog-tied  them.  Twilight  looked  on,  panting 
but  complacent. 

"Look  proud,  now  do,  you  ridiculous  old 
fool!"  said  Johnny.  "Ain't  you  never  goin' 
to  learn  no  sense  a-tall?  You  old  skeezicks! 
You've  lost  a  shoe,  too." 

He  coiled  his  rope  and  tied  it  to  the  saddle 
horn ;  from  under  the  horn  on  the  other  side 
he  took  a  running  iron,  held  there  by  a  slitted 
leather — an  iron  rod  three-eighths  of  an  inch 
in  diameter,  a  foot  long  and  shaped  like  a 
shepherd's  crook.  He  gathered  up  dead 
branches  of  mahogany  bush  and  made  a  small 
fire,  cunningly  built  for  a  quick  draft,  close  be 
side  the  yearling;  he  thrust  the  hook  part  of 
the  branding  iron  into  the  hottest  fire;  and 
while  it  was  heating  he  returned  to  give  grave 
reprimand  and  instruction  to  Twilight  That 
culprit  listened  attentively,  bright-eyed  and 
watchful ;  managing  in  some  way  to  bear  him 
self  so  as  to  suggest  a  man  who  looks  over  the 
top  of  his  spectacles  while  rubbing  his  chin 
with  a  thoughtful  thumb.  When  the  iron  was 
hot  Johnny  proceeded  to  put  the  Bar  Cross 
brand  on  the  protesting  yearling.  Looking 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          133 

up,  he  became  aware  of  a  man  riding  soberly 
down  the  canon  toward  him.  Johnny  waved 
his  hand  and  shoved  his  iron  into  the  fire  for 
a  second  heating. 

The  newcomer  rode  up  the  trail  and  halted ; 
a  big  red-headed  man  with  a  big  square  face 
and  twinkling  eyes.  He  fished  for  tobacco 
and  rolled  a  cigarette. 

"Thought  I  knew  all  the  Bar  Cross  wad- 
dies.  You  haven't  been  wearin'  the  crop  and 
split  very  long,  have  you?" 

"They  just  heard  of  me  lately,"  explained 
Johnny. 

"I  know  that  Twilight  horse  of  yours. 
Saw  him  last  spring  at  the  round-up.  Purty 
as  a  picture,  ain't  he?" 

"Humph!  Pretty  is  as  pretty  does." 
Johnny  returned  to  his  branding.  "He  made 
me  miss  my  throw,  and  now  I'm  in  the  wrong 
canon.  I  aimed  to  take  the  draw  north  of 
here,  for  Hillsboro." 

The  newcomer  leaned  on  his  saddle  horn. 

"Deadman?  Well,  you  could  cross  over 
through  this  pass  if  you  was  right  set  on  it. 
But  it's  a  mean  place  on  the  far  side — slick, 


134         STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

smooth  rock.  You  might  as  well  go  on  by 
way  of  Garfield  now.  You  won't  lose  but  a 
mile  or  two,  and  you'll  have  fine  company — 
me.  Or — say,  if  you're  going  that  way,  why 
can't  you  mail  a  letter  for  me?  Then  I  won't 
have  to  go  at  all.  I'd  be  much  obliged  to 
you  if  you  would.  That  was  all  I  was  going 
for,  to  mail  some  location  notices." 

"Sure  I  will.  I  kind  of  want  to  see  Gar- 
field  anyhow.  Never  been  there.  Crop  and 
split  the  right.  So  that's  done.  I'll  keep  this 
piece  of  ear  for  tally." 

The  other  took  a  large  envelope  from  his 
saddle  pockets  and  handed  it  over.  Dines 
stuck  it  in  the  bosom  of  his  flannel  shirt. 

"I  ain't  got  no  stamps.  This  letter'll  need 
two,  I  guess.  Here's  the  nickel.  Will  you 
please  kindly  stick  'em  on  for  me?" 

"Sure,"  said  Dines  again.  He  undid  the 
yearling's  legs.  "Now,  young  fellow,  go  find 
your  mammy.  Go  a-snuffin'!" 

The  yearling  scrambled  to  his  feet,  bellow 
ing.  Johnny  jerked  him  round  by  the  tail  so 
that  his  nose  pointed  down  the  canon;  the  new 
comer  jumped  his  horse  and  shook  a  stirrup 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          135 

and  slapped  his  thigh  with  his  hat;  the  year 
ling  departed. 

"Well,  I'll  be  getting  on  back  to  camp," 
said  the  newcomer.  "So  long!  Much  ob 
liged  to  you." 

"So  long!"  said  Johnny. 

He  waved  his  hand.  The  other  waved 
answer  as  he  took  the  trail.  He  jogged  in 
leisurely  fashion  up  the  canon.  Dines  paused 
to  tread  out  the  remaining  fire,  took  up  his 
branding  iron  by  the  cool  end,  and  rode  whis 
tling  down  the  canon,  swinging  the  iron  to 
cool  it  before  he  slipped  it  to  its  appointed 
place  below  his  saddle  horn. 


yn 

"May  God  be  merciful  to  him  and  to  us  all." 

—  The  Advocate  of  Arras. 


come  along  and  share  my 
guilty  splendor,"  urged  Adam 
Forbes,  toe  to  stirrup. 

Charlie  See  shook  his  head.  "Not  none. 
Here  I  rest.  Gold  is  nothing  to  me.  I've  got 
no  time  for  frivolity.  I  want  but  little  here 
below  and  want  that  little  now.  Say,  Adam 
—  don't  you  never  carry  a  gun?" 

"Naw.  I  take  a  rifle,  of  course,  for  rein 
deer,  snow  dear,  dear  me  and  antelope  —  but 
I  haven't  packed  a  gun  for  two  years.  No 
need  of  it  here.  Well,  if  you  won't  side  me, 
you  won't.  I'm  sorry,  but  you  see  how  it  is 
about  me  going  right  now,"  said  Adam,  swing 
ing  into  the  saddle.  "The  water  in  that  little 
tank  of  mine  won't  last  long,  and  there  may 
not  be  any  more  rains  this  fall.  So  long! 
You  just  make  yourself  at  home." 

"Good  luck,  Adam.  And  you  might  wish 
me  the  same.  While  you're  gone,  I  may  want 

136 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          137 

to  make  a  little  journey  from  bad  to  worse." 
Adam  gathered  up  his  lead  rope.  "Good 
luck,  Charlie."  But  a  troubled  look  came  to 
his  eyes  as  he  passed  through  the  gate;  in  his 
heart  he  thought  his  friend  rode  late  and 
vainly  from  Selden  Hill. 

The  pack  horse  jogged  alongside,  his 
friendly  head  at  Adam's  knee.  It  was  earli 
est  morning  and  they  were  still  in  the  fresh 
cool  shadow  of  the  low  eastern  hills.  Farther 
north  the  enormous  bulk  of  Timber  Mountain 
loomed  monstrous  in  the  sky,  and  there  the 
shadows  were  deep  and  dense,  impenetrably 
black;  there  night  lingered  visible,  brighter 
that  in  all  the  wide  arc  to  westward,  bench- 
land  and  mighty  hill  were  drenched  with 
sparkling  sun. 

Adam  rode  with  a  pleasant  jingling  of 
spurs.  He  passed  through  Garfield  town,  or 
town-to-be,  remodeled  from  the  old  San 
Ysidro,  the  bare  and  grassless  Mexican  plaza 
changed  to  the  square  of  a  Kansas  town,  by 
tree  and  hard-won  turf;  blacksmith  shop  and 
school,  with  a  little  store  and  post  office,  clus 
tered  for  company  on  one  side:  business  would 


138          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

fill  up  the  three  blank  sides — like  Columbus 
or  Cherryvale.  For  there  is  no  new  thing 
beneath  the  kindly  sun.  Not  otherwise,  far 
from  the  plains  of  windy  Troy,  did  Priam's 
son  build  and  copy,  in  the  wild  hills  of 
Epirus: 

The  little  Troy,  the  castle  Pergamus, 
The  river  Xanthus,  and  the  Scesan  gate. 

Fringing  the  townler,  new  gristmill  and  new 
factory  stood  where  the  mother  ditch  was 
bridged.  Beyond  the  bridge  the  roads  forked. 
From  the  right  hand  a  steep  canon  came 
plunging  to  the  valley,  winding  dark  between 
red-brown  hills.  This  canon  was  Redgate; 
here  turned  the  climbing  road  to  Upham; 
and  Adam  Forbes  followed  the  Redgate  road. 

At  the  summit  he  turned  to  the  left  across 
a  corner  of  MacCleod's  Park;  he  crossed  a 
whorl  of  low  ridges  at  the  head  of  Apache 
Canon  and  came  to  Hidden  Tanks — a  little 
limestone  basin,  now  brimming  with  rain 
water,  perhaps  a  dozen  barrels  in  all.  Adam 
had  fenced  this  in  with  a  combination  of  stone 
wall  and  cedar  brush,  to  keep  cattle  out.  He 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          139 

now  climbed  to  a  little  low  cliff  near  by. 
There  he  had  cached  his  outfit  in  a  little  cup 
board  of  a  cave,  the  floor  of  it  shoulder  high 
to  him  where  he  stood.  Here  he  unpacked. 
He  added  to  the  cache  his  little  store  of 
sugar,  coffee,  rice,  bacon  and  flour,  all  packed 
in  five  or  ten  pound  baking-powder  cans 
against  the  ravages  of  mice,  gray  squirrels  and 
trade  rats.  The  little  deep  cave  gave  pro 
tection  against  larger  pests  and  shelter  from 
rain.  He  rolled  up  his  bedding,  lifted  it  into 
the  mouth  of  the  cave  and  shoved  it  back. 

Two  empty  five-gallon  kegs  were  left  of 
his  pack;  he  had  not  dared  to  leave  them  in 
the  cache,  to  fall  apart  in  the  dry  and  sun- 
parched  air.  These  kegs  he  filled  at  the  tanks 
and  slung  on  the  pack  saddle;  with  them  he 
made  his  way  to  the  hill  of  his  hopes.  It  was 
close  by;  he  had  hidden  there  his  pick,  shovel 
and  the  broad  shallow  basin  used  for  pan 
ning  gold.  He  hobbled  the  horses;  by  ten 
o'clock,  or  a  little  later,  he  was  deep  in  the 
interrupted  task  of  a  month  before. 

Freakish  chance  had  timed  that  interrup 
tion  to  halt  him  on  the  very  brink  of  success. 


140         STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

Before  he  had  taken  out  a  dozen  pans  he  was 
in  rich  dirt.  Noon  found  him  shaken  from 
the  poise  and  mastery  of  years.  Abandoning 
the  patient  and  systematic  follow-up  system, 
he  pushed  on  up  the  hill,  sampling  at  random, 
and  rinding  each  sample  richer.  The  scant 
supply  of  water  was  nearly  gone,  the  gold 
frenzy  clutched  at  his  heart.  By  sighting,  he 
roughly  developed  the  lines  showing  the  prob 
able  limit  of  pay  dirt,  as  marked  by  the  monu 
ments  of  his  earlier  labor;  he  noted  the  inter 
section  of  those  lines,  and  there  began  a  fever 
ish  panning  with  his  remnant  of  water.  He 
found  gold  in  flakes,  in  scales,  in  millet-seed 
grains- — in  grains  like  rice  at  last!  He  had 
tracked  down  a  pocket  to  make  history  with, 
to  count  time  from.  And  the  last  of  his  water 
was  used. 

Adam  sat  down,  trembling  to  think  his  find 
had  been  unprotected  by  the  shadow  of  a  claim 
for  the  last  month ;  reflected  then  that  it  had 
lain  unclaimed  for  some  thousands  of  years, 
and  with  the  reflection  pulled  himself  together 
and  managed  a  grin  at  his  own  folly. 

He  went  back  to  his  saddle.     Tucked  in 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          141 

the  saddle  pockets  was  a  goodly  lunch,  but 
he  did  not  touch  that.  He  untied  his  coat 
and  took  out  two  printed  location  notices, 
several  crumply  sheets  of  blank  paper  and  a 
pencil.  He  filled  in  the  blanks  as  the  loca 
tion  notice  of  the  Goblin  Gold  Mine — original 
notice  and  copy.  On  the  blank  paper  he 
wrote  out  four  more  notices,  two  originals  and 
two  copies,  for  the  Nine  Bucks  Placer  Claim 
and  the  Please  Hush.  For  the  Goblin  Gold 
he  wrote  himself  as  locator,  Charles  See  and 
Howard  Lull  as  witnesses ;  he  reserved  this  for 
the  highest  and  richest  claim.  For  the  next 
below,  Charles  See  was  locator,  Forbes  and 
Lull  were  witnesses;  and  the  third  was  as 
signed  to  Howard  Lull,  with  See  and  Forbes 
to  bear  witness. 

Adam  paced  off  the  three  claims  adjoining 
each  other  and  built  a  stone  monument  at  each 
corner,  with  a  larger  monument  for  the  loca 
tion-papers  at  the  center  of  each  claim;  the 
central  monument  of  the  Goblin  Gold  about 
where  he  had  made  the  last  panning.  And 
then,  even  as  he  started  to  slip  the  first  location 
notice  in  its  monument,  he  lifted  up  his  eyes 


[142          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

and  saw,  across  the  tangled  ridges,  three  men 
riding  up  from  the  deeps  of  Apache  Canon. 

The  cool  judgment  that  had  brought  him 
safe  through  a  thousand  dangers  was  warped 
now  by  the  fever  and  frenzy  of  gold  lust;  his 
canny  instinct  against  disaster  failed  him  in  his 
need.  There  must  be  no  shadow  of  irregu 
larity  on  these  claims,  his  hot  brain  reasoned ; 
his  find  was  too  rich  for  chance-taking  in  the 
matter  of  mythical  witnesses;  yonder,  by 
happy  and  unlocked  for  chance,  were  wit 
nesses  indeed ;  he  must  have  their  names  to  his 
location  notices,  and  then  he  would  get  the 
copies  to  Hillsboro  for  recording  at  the 
earliest;  he  would  mail  them  in  Garfield  post 
office  that  very  afternoon. 

He  reversed  his  pencil  and  erased  the  names 
of  his  fictitious  witnesses;  he  saddled  his  horse 
and  rode  to  intercept  the  three  horsemen,  half 
a  mile  away  now,  trailing  slowly  across  the 
park  toward  MacCleod's  Tanks.  He  waved 
them  to  stop.  As  he  drew  near  he  knew  two 
of  the  men — Jody  Weir,  of  Hillsboro,  and  Big 
Ed  Caney,  a  deputy  sheriff  from  Dona  Ana 
.County;  two  men  he  trusted  not  at  all.  Time 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          143 

was  he  would  have  deemed  this  conjunction 
sinister;  to-day,  madness  was  upon  him.  The 
third  was  a  stranger.  Each  man  had  a 
blanket  and  a  bulging  slicker  tied  behind  his 
saddle.  Evidently  they  carried  rations  for 
several  days'  camping. 

"Hello,  Adam!" 

"You're  another — three  of  'em.  Got  any 
water  in  those  canteens?  If  I  was  to  do  a 
piece  of  wishin',  right  now,  I'd  mention  water 
first  off.  This  is  sure  one  old  scorcher  of  a 
day!  She's  a  weather  breeder.  Rain  before 
morning,  sure  as  snakes.  I  see  thunderheads 
peeping  up  over  the  Black  Range,  right  now." 

Caney  handed  over  a  canteen.  "Drink 
hearty!  You  shore  look  like  you'd  been 
working,  Adam." 

Adam  drank  deep  before  replying. 

"Working  is  right.  Prospecting.  Tired 
of  farming — need  a  change.  Say,  I  want 
you  fellows  to  witness  some  location  notices 
for  me.  Ride  over  on  the  next  ridge  and  I 
can  point  out  where  the  claims  lay  so  you  can 
swear  to  'em — or  ride  over  with  me  if  you  got 
time.  I  was  just  doing  a  little  forgery  when 


144          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

I  saw  your  dust,  for  I  wasn't  expectin'  to  see 
a  man  up  this  way — not  ever.  I  do  reckon 
this  is  the  lonesomest  place  in  the  world." 

"Adam,  meet  my  friend,"  said  Jody.  "Mr. 
Forbes,  Mr.  Hales.  Now,  Adam,  no  need 
for  us  to  go  over  to  your  layout,  is  there?  We 
can  see  your  silly  monuments.  That's  enough. 
No  particular  odds  anyway,  is  it?  I  reckon 
half  the  notices  on  record  have  ghost  signa 
tures  to  'em.  Just  as  good  as  any.  Nobody'll 
ever  know  the  difference." 

"Sure,  that's  all  right — but  seein'  you  hap 
pened  along  so  slick,  I  thought  I'd  get  your 
John  Hancocks.  Sign  on  the  dotted  line, 
please — where  I  rubbed  out  my  forgeries." 

"Any  good,  your  mines?"  asked  Jody  as 
they  signed. 

"Might  be — will  be,  likely  enough.  Just 
struck  pay  dirt  to-day.  Lots  of  room  if  you 
want  to  try  a  whirl — all  round  my  claims,  any 
direction  except  down." 

"Not  to-day,  I  guess.  Say,  Forbes — you 
ain't  seen  any  strangers  this  way,  have  you? 
Mexicans,  mebbe?" 

"Not  any.     But  I  just  come  up  from  the 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          145 

river.  Hills  might  be  full  of  people,  for  all 
I  know.  Water  all  round,  after  these  rains." 

"Look,  now,"  said  Jody.  "We're  doin'  a 
little  man  hunt — and  if  you're  hangin'  round 
here  prospecting  you  may  be  able  to  give  us  a 
straight  tip.  Keep  your  eye  peeled.  There'll 
be  a  piece  of  money  in  it  for  you  if  you  can 
help  us  out." 

"Give  it  a  name.  But  see  here,  Caney — 
this  isn't  Dona  Ana  County,  you  know. 
You're  over  the  line." 

"I'm  not  doing  this  official,"  said  Caney. 
"Neither  is  Hales,  here,  though  he  is  a  deputy 
in  Socorro  County.  We're  private  cits  in  this 
man's  county — playin'  a  hunch.  Here's  the 
lay:  There's  been  a  heap  of  stealing  saddles 
for  a  business  lately — saddles  and  other  truck, 
but  saddles,  wholesale,  most  particular.  Got 
so  it  wasn't  safe  for  a  man  to  leave  a  saddle 
on  a  horse  at  night,  down  round  Las  Cruces." 

"They  got  Bill  McCall's  saddle  in  Mesilla 
three  months  ago,"  broke  in  Jody,  laughing. 
"So  Bill,  he  went  and  broke  a  bronc  backward. 
Yes,  sir!  Broke  him  to  be  saddled  and 
mounted  from  the  wrong  side.  Only  left- 


146         STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

handed  horse  in  the  world,  I  reckon.  Then 
Bill  slips  off  down  to  Mesilla,  ties  his  horse 
in  front  of  Isham  Holt's  house  about  dark, 
and  filters  inside  to  jolly  Miss  Valeria. 
Pretty  soon  Bill  heard  a  tur'ble  row  outside, 
and  when  he  went  out  he  found  a  Mex  boy 
rollin'  round  in  the  street  and  a-holdin'  both 
hands  to  his  belly.  Claimed  he  had  the 
cramps,  he  did — but  that's  why  we're  rather 
looking  for  Mexicans." 

"We  figured  they  were  a  regular  gang, 
scattered  up  and  down,  hurrying  the  stuff 
along  by  relays,  and  likely  taking  it  down  in 
old  Mexico  to  dispose  of,"  said  Caney. 
"Then  we  hear  that  saddles  are  being  missed 
up  in  Socorro  County  too.  So  Hales  and  me 
gets  our  wise  heads  together.  Here  is  our 
hugeous  hunch:  This  is  lonesome  country 
here,  the  big  roads  dodge  the  river  from  San 
Marcial  to  Rincon,  'count  of  it  being  so  rough, 
so  thieves  wouldn't  go  by  the  Jornada  nor  yet 
take  the  big  west-side  roads  through  Palomas 
or  Hillsboro.  No,  sir.  They  just  about  fol 
low  the  other  side  of  the  river,  where  nobody 
lives,  as  far  down  as  Engle  Ferry.  There  or 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          147 

thereabouts  they  cross  over,  climb  up  Mescal 
Canon  and  ooze  out  through  the  rough  country 
east  of  Caballo  Mountain.  Then  they  either 
come  through  by  MacCleocTs  and  cross  the 
river  here  again,  or  they  keep  on  down  below 
Rincon  to  Barela  Bosque.  Maybe  they  save 
up  till  they  get  a  wagonload  of  saddles,  cover 
them  up  with  a  tarp  or  maybe  some  farm 
truck,  and  drive  whistlin'  down  the  big  road  to 
El  Paso." 

"Anyhow,"  said  Hales,  "the  Cattle  Asso 
ciation  has  offered  an  even  thousand  for  in 
formation  leading  to  conviction,  and  we're  go 
ing  to  watch  the  passes  and  water  holes — here 
and  at  Hadley  Spring  and  Palomas  Gap.  If 
you  help  get  the  thousand,  you  help  spend  it. 
That's  right,  ain't  it,  boys?" 

The  others  nodded. 

"Go  with  you,  you  mean?" 

"No.  You  stay  here — so  long  as  you're 
here  anyway — while  we  ride  up  the  line. 
That  way,  one  of  us  can  go  on  and  watch 
Mescal.  We  was  one  man  shy  before,"  said 
Caney.  "Does  it  go?" 

"It  goes." 


148          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

"Take  your  silly  location  papers  then,  and 
we'll  ride.  We're  going  across  to  have  a  look 
for  tracks  in  Deadman  first."  He  jerked  his 
chin  toward  a  notch  in  the  hills,  halfway  be 
tween  the  head  of  Apache  Canon  and  the  head 
of  Redgate.  "Then  we'll  go  up  by  Mac- 
Cleod's  Tank  and  on  through  to  the  Jornada 
and  up  the  east  side  of  Timber  Mountain." 

"Me,  I  reckon  I'll  post  my  notice  and 
then  go  mail  the  copies  to  the  recorder's 
office,"  said  Adam.  "Thank'ee,  gentlemen. 
Adios!" 

Jody  Weir  pulled  up  his  horse  behind  the 
first  hill. 

"Fellers,  that  man  has  made  a  strike! 
Didya  see  his  face — all  sweat  and  dust? 
Adam  Forbes  is  not  the  man  to  rustle  like  that 
in  this  broiling  sun  unless  he  was  worked  up 
about  something.  He  didn't  act  natural,  no 
how.  He  drawls  his  talk  along,  as  a  usual 
thing — but  to-day  he  spoke  up  real  crisp  and 
peart.  I  tell  you  now,  Forbes  has  found  the 
stuff!" 

"I  noticed  he  didn't  seem  noways  keen  for 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT         149 

us  to  go  help  post  his  papers,"  said  Caney. 
"Humph!  I  began  noticin'  before  that," 
said  Toad  Hales.  "Us  signing  as  witnesses — 
that  got  my  eye.  Usually  it  makes  no  never 
minds  about  a  witness  to  a  mining  claim. 
They  sign  up  John  Smith,  Robinson  Crusoe  or 
Jesse  James,  and  let  it  go  at  that.  Mighty 
strict  and  law-abiding  all  of  a  sudden,  he  was  I 
And  going  to  record  his  papers  the  day  of  dis 
covery — when  he  has  ninety  days  for  it?  It's 
got  all  the  earmarks  of  a  regular  old  he-strike! 
I  move  we  take  rounders  on  him  and  go  look- 


see." 


"Cowboy — you  done  said  something." 

They  slipped  back  furtively,  making  a  de 
tour,  riding  swiftly  under  cover  of  shielding 
hills;  they  peeped  over  a  hill  crest  beyond 
Adam's  claims  just  in  time  to  see  him  riding 
slowly  away  in  the  direction  of  Redgate. 

"Gone  to  mail  his  notices  to  Hillsboro!" 
snarled  Jody.  "Some  hurry!  Come  on,  you 
— let's  look  into  this." 

They  found  pick  and  pan,  stacked  with  the 
empty  water  kegs  by  the  location  monument 
of  the  Goblin  Gold ;  they  scraped  up  a  small 


150         STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

pan  of  dirt  from  one  of  the  shallow  holes  of 
Adam's  making;  they  poured  in  water  from 
their  canteens;  Caney  did  the  washing.  He 
poured  off  the  lighter  dirt,  he  picked  out  the 
pebbles,  he  shook  the  residue  with  a  gentle 
oscillating  movement;  he  poured  the  muddy 
water  cautiously,  he  shook  the  pan  again. 

"Sufferin'  tomcats!"  yelled  Hales.  "Gold 
as  big  as  wheat  1" 

Caney's  face  went  whitey-green ;  he  com 
pleted  the  washing  with  a  last  dexterous  flirt 
and  set  down  the  pan  with  trembling  hands. 

"Look  at  that!" 

Jody's  eyes  were  popping  from  his  head. 
"A  pocket!  Even  if  it  plays  out  in  a  day — 
a  day's  work  would  make  us  rich  for  life!" 

"Us— hell!"  said  Caney.  "We  get  the 
crumbs  and  leavings.  Adam  Forbes  knows 
what  he's  about.  He's  got  the  cream.  Out 
side  of  his  claims  the  whole  damn  mountain 
won't  be  worth  hell  room!" 

Jody  turned  his  eyes  slowly  toward  Red- 
gate.  "If  we'd  only  known  we  might  have 
horned  in.  Three  of  us — why,  sooner  than 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          151 

lose  it  all  and  get  himself  killed  to  boot,  we 
might  have  split  this  fifty-fifty." 

" We'll  split  this  thirty-thirty!"  Caney 
sprang  to  his  feet.  "Have  you  got  the  guts 
for  it?  Jody,  this  is  your  country — can  we 
head  him  off?" 

"If  he  goes  round  by  the  head  of  Redgate 
Canon — and  if  we  don't  stay  here  talking — 
we  can  cut  across  through  Deadman.  There's 
a  pass  where  Deadman  and  Redgate  bend 
close  together.  It  won't  be  a  long  shot — two 
hundred  yards." 

"Three  shots!  Come  on!"  Hales  swung 
on  his  horse.  "We've  all  got  our  rifles. 
Three  shots!  Come  on!"  He  jabbed  the 
spurs  home. 

It  was  not  until  they  had  passed  the  park 
that  the  others  overtook  Hales. 

"Here,  you,  Hales — don't  kill  your  horse!" 
said  Jody  Weir.  "If  he  beats  us  to  the  pass 
we're  not  done  yet.  He'll  come  back  to-night. 
He  said  so." 

"You  cussed  fool!  If  he  once  gets  those 
location  notices  in  the  mail  we  might  as  well 


152          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

let  him  go.  We  couldn't  take  the  chances  and 
get  by  with  it." 

"That's  just  it,"  said  Jody.  "Hi!  Caney! 
Ride  up  alongside.  Slow  up,  Hales!  Listen, 
both  of  you.  Even  if  he  gets  those  papers  in 
the  mail,  the  recorder  need  never  see  them. 
All  I  have  to  do  is  to  say  the  word.  I'm  on 
the  inside — sure  and  safe." 

"Sure?" 

"Sure  and  safe.  If  he  beats  us  to  the  gap 
and  comes  back — well,  you  stop  Adam's 
mouth  and  I'll  be  responsible  for  the  papers. 
They'll  never  be  recorded  in  this  world!" 

"Where's  your  stand-in?     At  Garfield?" 

"Never  you  mind  my  stand-in.  That's  my 
lookout.  A  letter  posted  at  Garfield  to-night 
goes  to  Rincon  by  buckboard  to-morrow;  it 
lays  over  in  Rincon  to-morrow  night,  goes  out 
on  the  High  Line  to  Nutt  on  the  nine-fifteen 
day  after  to-morrow,  takes  the  branch  line  to 
Lake  Valley,  and  goes  from  Lake  to  Hillsboro 
by  stage.  It  don't  get  to  Hillsboro  till  two 
in  the  afternoon,  day  after  to-morrow.  It 
takes  as  long  from  Garfield  to  Hillsboro  as 
from  Chicago.  After — after — if  we  turn  the 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          153 

trick — we  can  come  back  and  post  location 
notices  for  ourselves.  Then  we  can  beat  it  on 
a  bee  line  for  Hillsboro  and  record  'em." 

"Aha!  So  it's  at  Hillsboro  post  office 
you're  the  solid  Muldoon,  is  it?" 

Weir's  gun  flashed  to  a  level  with  Caney's 
breast.  "That  will  be  all  from  you,  Caneyl 
Your  next  supposing  along  those  lines  will  be 
your  last.  Get  me?  Now  or  ever!  Keep 
your  mouth  closed,  and  Adam  Forbes'  mouth. 
That's  your  job." 

"Put  up  your  gun,  kid.  I  can't  afford  to  be 
killed.  I'm  going  to  be  a  howlin'  million 
aire.  I'll  say  no  more,  but  I'm  not  sorry  I 
spoke.  You  bein'  so  very  earnest  that  way, 
I'm  satisfied  you  can  deliver  the  goods.  That 
is  what  I  want  to  know — for  I  tell  you  now, 
I  don't  expect  to  head  Forbes  off  here.  He 
had  too  much  start  of  us — unless  he  dilly 
dallies  along  the  road  or  is  delayed." 

"If  he  comes  back,  won't  he  bring  a  gang 
with  him?  If  he  does  we're  done,"  said 
Hales.  "That's  why  I'm  willing  to  kill  my 
horse  to  beat  him  to  it.  You  two  seem  more 
interested  in  chewing  the  rag." 


154         STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

"O,  that's  all  right!  Jody  and  me,  we've 
come  to  a  good  understanding,"  said  Caney 
smoothly.  Jody  Weir  glanced  carelessly  at 
the  back  of  Hales'  head,  his  eyes  wandered  till 
they  met  Caney's  eyes  and  held  steadily  there 
for  a  moment;  his  brows  arched  a  trifle. 

"Well,  here  we  are,"  announced  Jody. 
"We'd  better  make  the  climb  afoot  The 
horses  are  about  done  and  they'd  make  too 
much  noise  anyway — floundering  about.  It's 
all  slick  rock." 

They  took  their  rifles  from  the  saddles,  they 
clambered  up  the  steep  pass,  they  peered  over 
cautiously. 

"Hell!  There's  two  of  them!"  said  Caney. 
"Get  'em  both!  Big  stakes!  This  is  the 
chance  of  a  lifetime!" 

Below  them  on  a  little  shelf  of  promontory 
stood  a  saddled  horse,  a  blue  horse.  A  year 
ling  was  hog-tied  there,  and  a  branding  fire 
burned  beside.  As  they  looked,  a  young  man 
knelt  over  the  yearling  and  earmarked  it. 
Close  by,  Adam  Forbes  slouched  in  the  saddle, 
leaning  with  both  hands  on  the  horn.  He 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          155 

gave  a  letter  to  the  young  man,  who  stuck  it 
into  his  shirt  and  then  went  back  to  the  year 
ling.  He  loosed  the  hogging-string.  The 
yearling  scrambled  to  his  feet,  bawling  de 
fiance,  intent  on  battle;  the  young  man 
grabbed  the  yearling's  tail  and  jerked  him 
round  till  his  head  faced  down  the  canon. 
Adam  Forbes  made  a  pass  with  his  horse  and 
slapped  with  his  hat;  the  yearling  fled. 

"Wait!  Wait!"  whispered  Jody.  "I  know 
that  man!  That's  Johnny  Dines.  Wait! 
Adam  wants  to  get  back  and  feel  that  gold  in 
his  fingers.  Ten  to  one  Dines  is  going  across 
the  river;  I  can  guess  his  business;  he's  hunt 
ing  for  the  John  Cross.  Adam  gave  him  the 
location-papers  to  mail.  If  Adam  goes  back 
— there's  your  scapegoat — Dines!  He'll  be 
the  man  that  killed  Forbes!" 

"Friend  of  yours,  Jody?" 

"Damn  him!  If  they  both  start  down  the 
canon,  you  fellows  get  Forbes.  I'll  get  Dines 
myself.  That's  the  kind  of  friend  he  is.  Get 
your  guns  ready — they'll  be  going  in  a  minute, 
one  way  or  the  other." 


156         STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

"Curiously  enough,  I  know  Johnny  Dines 
myself,"  muttered  Hales.  "Very  intelligent 
man,  Dines.  Very!  I  would  take  a  singular 
satisfaction  in  seeing  young  Dines  hung.  To 
that  laudable  end  I  sure  hope  your  Mr.  Forbes 
will  not  go  down  the  canon." 

"Well,  he  won't!  Didn't  you  see  him  give 
Dines  the  papers?"  said  Caney.  "Lay  still! 
This  is  going  to  match  up  like  clockwork." 

The  men  below  waved  their  hands  to  each 
other  in  friendly  fashion ;  Forbes  jogged  lazily 
up  the  canon;  Dines  stamped  out  the  branding 
fire  and  rode  whistling  on  the  riverward  road. 

"Weir,  you're  dead  sure  you  can  pull  the 
trick  about  the  papers?  All  right,  then — you 
and  Hales  go  over  there  and  write  out  joint 
location  papers  in  the  names  of  the  three  of 
us.  Got  a  pencil?  Yes?  Burn  the  old 
notices,  and  burn  'em  quick.  Burn  his  kegs 
and  turn  his  hobbled  horse  loose.  We  will 
bring  his  tools  as  we  come  back,  and  hide  'em 
in  the  rocks.  Any  old  scrap  of  paper  will  do 
us.  Here's  some  old  letters.  Use  the  backs 
of  them.  After  we  get  to  Hillsboro  we'll 
make  copies  to  file." 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          157 

These  directions  came  jerkily  and  piece 
meal  as  the  conspirators  scrambled  down  the 
hillside. 

"Where'll  we  join  you?" 

Caney  paused  with  his  foot  in  the  stirrup 
to  give  Jody  Weir  a  black  look. 

"I'll  join  you,  young  fellow,  and  I'll  join 
you  at  our  mine.  Do  you  know,  I  don't  alto 
gether  trust  you?  I  want  to  see  those  two 
sets  of  location  papers  with  my  two  eyes  before 
we  start.  So  you'll  have  lots  of  time.  Don't 
you  make  no  mistakes.  And  when  we  go, 
we  go  together.  Then  if  we  happen  to  find 
Adam  Forbes  by  the  fire  where  he  caught 
young  Dines  stealin'  a  maverick  of  his — " 

"How'll  you  manage  that?  Forbes  is  half 
way  to  the  head  of  the  canon  by  now." 

"That's  your  way  to  the  left,  gentlemen. 
Take  your  time,  now.  I'm  in  no  hurry  and 
you  needn't  be,  and  our  horses  are  all  tired 
from  their  run.  And  you  want  to  be  most 
mighty  sure  you  keep  on  going.  For  the  next 
half  hour  nobody's  going  to  know  what  I'm 
doing  but  me  and  God — and  we  won't 
tell." 


158         STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

Caney  turned  off  to  the  right.  Fifteen 
minutes  later  he  met  Adam  Forbes  in  a  tangle 
of  red  hills  by  the  head  of  Redgate. 

"Hi,  Adam !  We  got  'em  I"  he  hailed  jubi 
lantly.  "Caught  'em  with  the  goods.  Two 
men  and  five  saddles.  Both  Mexicans." 

"They  must  have  given  you  one  hell  of  a 
chase,  judging  from  your  horse." 

"They  did.  We  spied  'em  jest  over  the 
divide  at  the  head  of  Deadman.  There  wasn't 
any  chance  to  head  'em  off.  We  woulda 
tagged  along  out  of  sight,  but  they  saw  us  first. 
They  dropped  their  lead  horses  and  pulled  out 
— but  we  got  close  enough  to  begin  foggin' 
lead  at  'em  in  a  straight  piece  of  canon,  and 
they  laid  'em  down." 

"Know 'em?" 

"Neither  one.  Old  Mexico  men,  I  judge 
by  the  talk  of  'em.  Hales  and  Jody  took  'em 
on  down  Deadman — them  and  the  lead  horses 
— while  I  come  back  for  you." 

"Me?    Whadya  want  o'  me?" 

"Why,  you  want  to  go  down  to  represent 
for  yourself.  You  know  that  odd  bit  of  land, 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          159 

grown  up  to  brush,  that  you  bought  of  Miguel 
Silva?" 

"Took  it  on  a  bad  debt.     What  of  it?" 

"Why,  there's  an  old  tumbledown  shack  on 
it,  and  they've  been  using  that  as  a  store  house, 
tha'sall.  By  their  tell  they  got  eighteen  as 
sorted  saddles  hid  there." 

"Well,  I'm  damned!"  said  Adam,  turning 
back.  "That's  a  blame  fine  howdy-do,  ain't 
it?  How  long  have  they  been  at  this  lay?" 

"Four  or  five  months.  More'n  that  south 
of  here.  But  they  just  lately  been  extendin' 
and  branchin'  out." 

"Making  new  commercial  connections,  so 
to  speak.  Any  of  the  Garfield  gente  impli 
cated?" 

"One.    Albino  Villa  Neuva." 

Adam  nodded.  "Always  thought  he  was 
a  bad  hombre,  Albino." 

"They're  going  to  come  clean,  these  two," 
said  Caney  cheerfully.  "We  told  'em  if 
they'd  turn  state's  evidence  they'd  probable 
get  off  light.  Reckon  we're  going  to  round 
up  the  whole  gang.  Say,  I  thought  you'd 


160         STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

hiked  on  to  Garfield.  I  started  back  to  your 
little  old  mine,  cut  into  your  sign,  and  was  fol- 
lowin'  you  up." 

"Yes,  I  did  start  down  all  right.  But  I 
met  up  with  a  lad  down  here  a  stretch  and 
give  him  my  papers  and  shackled  on  back. 
Damn  your  saddle  thieves,  anyway — I  sure 
wanted  to  go  back  and  paw  round  that  claim 
of  mine.  My  pack  horse  is  back  there  hob 
bled,  too." 

"Aw,  nemmine  your  pack  horse.  He'll 
make  out  till  mornin'." 

Ahead  of  them  the  wagon  road  was  gouged 
into  the  side  of  an  overhang  of  promontory, 
under  a  saddleback  pass  to  northward.  A 
dim  trail  curved  away  toward  the  pass. 
Adam's  eye  followed  the  trail.  Caney's 
horse  fell  back  a  step. 

"There's  where  I  found  my  mail  carrier," 
said  Adam;  "up  on  top  of  that  little  thumb. 
A  Bar  Cross  waddy,  he  was — brandin'  a  calf." 

Caney  fired  three  times.  The  muzzle  of 
his  forty-five  was  almost  between  Adam's 
shoulders.  Adam  fell  sidewise  to  the  left,  he 
clutched  at  his  rifle,  he  pulled  it  with  him  as 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          161 

he  fell.  His  foot  hung  in  the  stirrup,  his 
horse  dragged  him  for  a  few  feet.  Then  his 
foot  came  free.  He  rolled  over  once,  and 
tried  to  pull  his  rifle  up.  Then  he  lay  still 
with  his  face  in  the  dust. 


VIII 

"Look  on  my  face.     My  name  is  Might-Have-Been — 
I  am  also  called  No-More,  Too-Late,  Farewell." 

—Credit  Lost. 

66TT  is  a  hard  world,"  sighed  Charlie  See. 

"Life  is  first  one  thing  and  then  it  is  a 

broom  factory." 

They  made  a  gay  cavalcade  of  laughter 
and  shining  life,  those  four  young  people. 
They  had  been  to  show  Charlie  over  the  grist 
mill  and  the  broom  factory,  new  jewels  in  Gar- 
field's  crown,  and  now  they  turned  from  deed 
to  dream,  rode  merry  for  a  glimpsing  of  to 
morrow,  where  Hobby  Lull  planned  a  con 
quest  more  lasting  than  Caesar's.  Their  way 
led  now  beyond  the  mother  ditch  to  lands  yet 
unredeemed,  which  in  the  years  to  come  would 
lie  under  a  high  ditch  yet  to  be.  So  they  said 
and  thought.  But  what  in  truth  they  rode 
forth  for  to  see  was  east  of  the  sun  and  west  of 
the  moon — not  to  be  told  here.  Where  youth 
rides  with  youth  under  a  singing  sky  the 
chronicle  should  be  broad-spaced  between 
the  lines;  a  double  story,  ^yord  and  silence. 

162 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          163 

To  what  far-off  divine  event  we  move,  there 
shall  be  no  rapture  keener  than  hoping 
time  in  unspoiled  youth. 

The  embankments  of  the  mother  ditch  were 
head-high  to  them  as  they  rode.  They  paused 
on  the  high  bridge  between  the  desert  and  the 
sown.  Behind  lay  the  broad  and  level  clear 
ings,  orchard,  kempt  steading  and  alfalfa;  a 
step  beyond  was  the  raw  wilderness,  the  yucca 
and  the  sand,  dark  mesquite  in  hummocks  and 
mottes  and  clumps,  a  brown  winding  belt  be 
tween  the  mother  ditch  and  the  first  low  bench 
land.  The  air  came  brisk  and  sweet;  it 
rippled  the  fields  to  undulant  shimmer  of 
flashing  purple  and  green  and  gold. 

"Your  ^cequia  madre  is  sure  brimful  this 
evenin',"  remarked  the  guest. 

"Always  is — when  we  don't  need  it.  In  dry 
weather  she  gets  pretty  low  enough,"  said 
Hobby.  "Colorado  people  get  the  first  whack 
at  the  water,  and  New  Mexico  takes  what  is 
left.  Never  high  water  here  except  at  flood 
time.  Fix  that  different  some  day.  We  got 
to  fight  flood  and  drought  now,  one  down,  an 
other  come  on.  Some  day  we'll  save  the  flood 


164          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

water.  Sure !  No  floods,  no  drought.  Easy 
as  lying!  Famonosl" 

The  road  followed  the  curving  ditch;  their 
voices  were  tuned  to  lipping  water  and  the 
drone  of  bees.  Lull  pointed  out  the  lines 
where  his  high  ditch  was  to  run  at  the  base  of 
the  bench  land,  with  flume  at  gully  and  cafton 
steeps.  As  eye  and  mapping  hand  turned 
toward  Redgate  a  man  came  down  Redgate 
road  to  meet  them;  a  man  on  a  Maltese  horse. 
He  rode  briskly,  poised,  sure-swaying  as  ever 
bird  on  bough.  Charlie  See  warmed  to  the 
lithe  youth  of  him. 

"There,  fellow  citizens,"  he  said,  "there  is 
what  I'd  call  a  good  rider!" 

As  the  good  rider  came  abreast  he  swept  off 
his  hat.  His  eyes  were  merry;  he  nodded 
greeting  and  shook  back  a  mop  of  blackest 
hair.  The  sun  had  looked  upon  him.  He 
checked  the  blue  horse  in  his  stride — not  to 
stop,  but  to  slow  him;  he  spoke  to  Lull  in 
passing. 

"Garfield  post  office?"  He  jerked  a  thumb 
toward  the  bridge;  for  indeed,  seen  across 
the  ramparts  of  the  ditch,  there  was  small 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          165 

distinction  between  visible  Garfield  and  the 
scattered  farmsteads.  "This  way?" 

"Yes." 

"Just  across  the  bridge,"  added  Lyn.  The 
story  scorns  to  suppress  the  truth — she  smiled 
her  dimpliest. 

"Thanks,"  said  the  stranger;  and  then,  as  he 
came  abreast  of  Charlie  See:  "And  the  road 
to  Hillsboro?  Back  this  way — or  straight 
on?" 

"Straight  through.  Take  the  right  hand  at 
the  post  office — straight  to  the  ford.  You'll 
have  to  swim,  I  reckon." 

"Yes,"  said  the  stranger  indifferently.  He 
was  well  beyond  See  and  Edith  Harkey  now, 
and  the  blue  horse  came  back  into  the  road  and 
into  his  reaching  stride.  "Thanks."  The 
stranger  looked  back  with  the  last  word ;  at  the 
same  time  Miss  Dyer  turned  her  head.  They 
smiled. 

"And  they  turned  Lot's  wife  into  a  pillar 
of  salt!"  said  Mr.  Lull  bitterly. 

"He  had  such  smiling  eyes,"  urged  Lyn. 

"Ruin  and  destruction!  See!  Edith!  Spread 
out — head  her  off!"  Hobby  grabbed  Lyn's 


i66         STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

bridle  rein  and  led  his  captive  away  at  a 
triumphant  trot. 

They  turned  aside  to  inspect  the  doubtful 
passage  where  the  future  ditch  must  clamber 
and  twist  to  cross  Deadman;  Hobby  Lull  ex 
plained,  defended,  expounded;  he  bristled 
with  estimates,  alternative  levels  and  acre 
costs ;  here  was  the  inevitable  way,  but  yonder 
there  was  a  choosing;  at  that  long  gray  point, 
miles  away,  the  ditch  must  leave  the  river  to 
gain  the  needed  grades.  He  sparkled  with  ir 
resistible  enthusiasm,  he  overbore  opposition. 

"Look  here,  folks!"  said  Hobby.  "See 
those  thunder-heads?  It's  clouding  up  fast. 
It's  going  to  rain  and  there's  not  a  man  in  town 
can  stop  it.  I  aimed  to  take  you  up  and  show 
you  the  place  we  picked  to  make  the  ditch 
head,  but  I  judge  we  best  go  home.  We  can 
see  the  ditch  head  another  day." 

"Now  was  I  convinced  or  only  persuaded?" 
Charlie  See  made  the  grumbling  demand  of 
Edith  as  they  set  their  faces  homeward. 

Yet  he  was  secretly  impressed ;  he  paused  by 
jungle  and  sandy  swale  or  ribbed  and  gullied 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          167 

slope  for  admiration  of  orchards  unplanted 
and  friendly  homesteads  yet  to  be;  he  drew 
rein  by  a  pear  thicket  and  peered  half  en 
viously  into  its  thorny  impenetrable  keeps. 

"Who  lives  there,  Edith?  That's  the  best 
place  we've  seen.  Big  fine  house  and  all,  but 
it  looks  comfortable  and  homey,  just  the  same 
— mighty  pleasant  and  friendly.  And  them 
old-fashioned  flower  beds  are  right  quaint." 

"Hollyhocks,"1  she  breathed;  "and  mari 
golds,  and  four  o'clocks.  An  old-fashioned 
woman  lives  here." 

Charlie's  voice  grew  wistful.  "I  might 
have  had  a  place  like  this  just  as  well  as  not — 
if  I'd  only  had  sense  enough  to  hear  and  hark. 
Hobby  Lull  brought  me  out  here  and  put  me 
wise,  years  ago,  but  I  wouldn't  listen.  There 
was  a  bunch  of  us.  Hobby  and — and — now 
who  else  was  it?  It  was  a  merry  crowd,  I  can 
remember  that.  Hobby  did  all  the  talking — 
but  who  were  the  others?  And  have  they  for 
gotten  too?  It  was  a  long  time  ago,  before  the 
big  ditch.  Oh,  dear!  I  do  wish  I  could  re 
member  who  was  with  mel" 


1 68          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

His  voice  trailed  off  to  silence  and  a  sigh 
that  was  only  half  assumed. 

"You  make  it  seem  very  real,"  she  said,  un 
conscious  of  her  answering  deeper  sigh. 

"Real.  It  is  real!  Look  there — and  there — 
and  there  1" 

"That  is  all  Hobby's  work,"  said  Edith  as 
her  eyes  followed  his  pointing  finger,  and  saw 
there  what  he  saw — the  city  of  his  vision,  the 
courts  and  palaces  of  love.  "He  has  the 
builder's  mind." 

"Yes.  It  is  a  great  gift."  It  was  said  un 
grudgingly.  "I  wish  I  had  it.  That  way  lies 
happiness.  Me — I  am  a  spectator." 

She  shook  her  reins  to  go,  with  a  last  look 
at  his  phantom  farmlands.  "  'An'  I  'a  stubb'd 
Thurnaby  waaste.'  That's  what  they'll  put  on 
Hobby's  tombstone." 

She  lifted  up  her  eyes  from  the  waste  places 
and  the  seeming,  and  let  them  rest  on  the 
glowing  mesas  beyond  the  river  and  the  long 
dim  ridges  of  misty  mountain  beyond  and  over 
all ;  and  saw  them  in  the  light  that  never  was 
on  sea  or  land.  The  heart  of  the  good  warm 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          169 

boisterous  earth  called  to  kindred  clay,  "and 
turned  her  sweet  blood  into  wine." 

Shy  happiness  tinged  her  pale  cheek  with 
color,  a  tint  of  wild  rose  and  sea-shell  delicacy, 
faint  and  all  unnoted ;  he  was  half  inattentive 
to  her  as  she  rode  beside  him,  glowing  in  her 
splendid  spring,  a  noble  temple  of  life,  a 
sanctuary  ready  for  clean  sacrifice. 

"Yes.  Hobby,  he's  all  right.  Him  and  his 
likes,  they  put  up  the  brains  and  take  the  risks 
and  do  the  work.  But  after  it's  all  done  some 
of  these  austere  men  we  read  about,  they'll 
ooze  in  and  gather  the  crops." 

"He  doesn't  miss  much  worth  having. 
What  may  be  weighed  and  counted  and  stolen 
and  piled  in  heaps — oh,  yes,  Hobby  Lull  may 
miss  that.  Not  real  things,  like  laughter  and 
joy  and — and  love,  Charlie." 

Charlie  See  turned  his  head  toward  Red- 
gate.  She  read  his  thought;  in  her  face  the 
glow  of  life  faded  behind  the  white  skin.  But 
he  did  not  see  it;  nor  the  thread  of  pain  in  her 
eyes.  In  his  thought  she  was  linked  with 
Adam  Forbes,  and  at  her  word  he  smiled  to 


i7o          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

think  of  his  friend,  and  looked  up  to  Redgate 
where,  even  then,  "Nicanor  lay  dead  in  his 
harness." 

Pete  Harkey's  buckboard  stood  by  the  plat 
form  in  front  of  the  little  store,  and  the  young 
people  waited  there  for  him  and  his 
marketing. 

"Mail  day?"  asked  Charlie. 

"Nope.    To-morrow  is  the  big  day." 

"We  used  to  get  it  three  times  a  week,"  said 
Lyn.  "Now  it's  only  twice." 

"When  I  was  a  boy,"  said  See  thoughtfully, 
"I  always  wanted  to  rob  a  stage,  just  once. 
Somehow  or  other  I  never  got  round  to  it." 
His  brow  clouded. 

"Why,  Mr.  See!" 

"Charlie,"  said  Mr.  See.  "Well,  you 
needn't  be  shocked.  Society  is  very  unevenly 
divided  between  the  criminal  and  the  non- 
criminal  classes." 

"That,"  said  Edith,  "might  be  called  a  spiral 
remark.  Would  it  be  impertinent  to  ask  you 
to  specify?" 

"Not  at  all.     Superfluous.     See  for  your- 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          171 

self.  Old  Sobersides,  here — you  might  give 
him  the  benefit  of  the  doubt — he's  so  durned 
practical.  But  Adam  and  me,  Uncle  Dan 
and  your  Dad — there's  no  doubt  about  us, 
I'm  afraid.  It's  right  quaint  to  see  how  proud 
those  old  roosters  are  of  the  lurid  past.  When 
one  of  'em  gets  on  the  peck,  all  you  got  to  do 
is  to  start  relatin'  how  wild  they  used  to  be,  and 
they'll  be  eatin'  out  of  your  hand  in  no  time. 
They  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  themselves — silly 
old  donkeys  1" 

"How  about  the  women?"  asked  Lyn. 

"I've  never  been  able  to  make  a  guess.  But 
there's  so  few  of  you  out  here  at  the  world's 
end,  that  you  don't  count  for  much,  either 
way." 

"Lyn  realizes  that,"  said  Hobby.  "Here  at 
the  ragged  edge  of  things  she  knows  that  the 
men  outnumber  the  women  five  to  one.  So 
she  tries  to  make  up  for  it.  She  is  a  friendly 
soul." 

Miss  Lyn  Dyer  ignored  this  little  speech 
and  harked  back  to  the  last  observation  of 
Charlie  See.  "So  you  did  manage  to  notice 
that,  did  you?  I'm  surprised.  They've 


172         STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

amused  me  for  years — Uncle  Dan  and  Uncle 
Pete ;  how  mean  they  were,  the  wild  old  days 
and  the  chimes  at  midnight!  But  a  girl — oh, 
dear  me,  how  very  different!  No  hoydens 
need  apply!  A  notably  unwild  boy  is  re 
proached  as  a  sissy  and  regarded  with  sus 
picion,  but  a  girl  must  not  even  play  at  being 
wild.  'Prunes,  prisms  and  potatoes!7  Pod- 
snap!  Pecksniff!  Turveydrop  and  Com 
pany!  Doesn't  anyone  ever  realize  that  it 
might  be  a  tame  business  never  to  be  wild 
at  all?" 

"  'Tis  better  to  be  wild  and  weep — " 

"Now,  Hobby  Lull,  you  hush  up!  The 
answer  is,  No.  Catechism.  A  man  expects 
from  his  womankind  a  scrupulous  decorum 
which  he  is  far  too  broad-minded  to  require 
from  himself  or  his  mates — charitable  soul! 
Laughter  and  applause.  Cries  of  'That's 
true!' — Anything  more  grossly  unfair — " 

Rub-a-dub!     Rub-a-dub!    Rub-a-dub! 

Three  men  thundered  over  the  'cequia 
bridge.  At  the  first  drum  of  furious  hoofs 
See  wheeled  his  horse  sharply. 

"What's     that?     Trouble!"     The     three 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          173 

horsemen  swooped  from  the  bridge,  pounding 
on  the  beaten  road.  "Trouble,  sure!" 

"You  two  girls  light  out  of  this!  Ride!" 
said  Lull.  He  spurred  to  the  open  door  of 
the  store.  "Pete!"  he  called,  and  turned  back. 

"Adam?"  said  Charlie.  "Something  wrong 
up  Redgate  way.  Adam's  there,  and  no  one 
else  that  we  know  of." 

"I'm  afraid  so.  Horse  fell  on  him  maybe 
— dynamite  or  something.  Here  they  come. 
Big  Ed  and  Jody  Weir.  I  don't  know  the 
third  man." 

The  horsemen  were  upon  them.  "Mur 
der!"  cried  Caney.  "Adam  Forbes  has  been 
murdered!  Up  in  Redgate.  The  murderer 
came  this  way.  We  trailed  him  to  the  bridge. 
His  horse  had  lost  a  shoe." 

"Adam  Forbes!" 

"Who  is  to  tell  Edith?"  said  Charlie  See, 
under  his  breath. 

"Someone's  going  to  hang  for  this.  When 
we  found  him — I  never  had  such  a  shock  in 
my  life!"  said  Jody  Weir.  "Shot"  from  be 
hind — three  times.  The  powder  burned  his 
shirt.  Adam  never  had  a  chance.  Cold- 


'174         STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

blooded  murder.  Adam  was  holding  fast  to 
his  rifle,  wrong  side  up,  just  as  he  pulled  it 
from  the  scabbard.  That  man  came  through 
here." 

"Or  stopped  here,"  amended  Caney. 
"Might  have  been  a  Garfield  man,  of  course. 
IVe  heard  that  Forbes  was  tol'able  arbitrary." 

"We  met  a  stranger  coming  down  from 
Redgate,  something  like  an  hour  and  a  half 
ago,"  said  Hobby.  "But  if  he  had  just  killed 
a  man,  I'll  eat  my  hat.  That  man  was  feeling 
fine.  Only  a  boy,  too.  Someone  else  did  it,  I 
guess." 

"And  he'd  been  riding  slow.  No  sweat  on 
his  horse,"  added  Charlie. 

"Couldn't  have  been  anyone  else.  There 
wasn't  any  other  tracks,  except  the  tracks  of 
Adam's  horse.  They  turned  off  south  as  soon 
as  he  got  out  of  the  mouth  of  the  canon." 

"How'd  you  know  it  was  Adam's  horse?" 
This  was  Pete  Harkey,  at  the  open  door. 

"Saw  where  the  bridle  reins  dragged.  Say! 
Any  you  fellows  comin'  with  us?  That  man 
killed  Forbes,  I  tell  you — and  we're  goin'  after 
him.  Only  about  two  hours  till  dark — two 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          175 

and  a  half  at  most — and  a  rain  coming  up. 
This  is  no  time  for  talking.  We  can  talk  on 
the  road." 

"Anybody  stay  with  Adam?"  asked  Pete. 

"No.  There  was  just  the  three  of  us.  We 
came  full  chisel  after  the  murderer,  hard  as 
we  could  ride.  Come  on — get  some  of  your 
men  together — let's  ride,"  said  Caney  impa 
tiently.  "Get  a  wiggle  on,  can't  you?  Let's 
find  out  which  way  he  went  and  what  he 
looked  like.  He  came  here.  No  chance  for 
mistake.  The  body  was  still  warm." 

"I  saw  him !  I  saw  him !"  cackled  the  store 
keeper.  "Little  man,  smaller  than  Charlie — 
and  young.  About  twenty.  Came  in  after 
you  all  left,"  he  said,  addressing  Lull. 
"Mailed  a  letter.  Ridin'  a  blue  horse,  he  was 
— a  grullo.  That  the  man  you  met?" 

"Yes.  But  riding  a  blue  horse  doesn't  prove 
that  a  man  has  done  murder.  Nor  yet  mail 
ing  a  letter.  Or  being  young.  We  knew  that 
man  went  through  Garfield.  That's  nothing 
new.  He  told  us  he  was  going  on  to  Hills- 
boro." 

"That  was  a  blind,  I  reckon.     He  can  turn 


176         STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

always  back,  soon  as  he  gets  out  of  sight,"  said 
Hales. 

"He  went  that  way,"  piped  the  storekeeper. 
"Mailed  a  letter  here,  bought  a  shoe  and 
tacked  it  on  his  horse.  I  fished  round  to  find 
out  who  he  was,  but  he  put  me  off.  Finally 
I  asked  him,  p'int-blank.  'You  didn't  say 
what  your  name  was/  says  I.  'No,'  says  he, 
'I  didn't.7  And  off  he  went,  laughing,  im- 
pydent  as  hell!" 

"Did  you  notice  the  brand  on  his  horse?" 
asked  Charlie.  "He  passed  on  our  right-hand 
side,  so  we  didn't  see  it." 

"No,  I  didn't.  He  took  the  Greenhorn 
road,  and  he  was  ridin'  middlin'  slow." 

"If  you  had  used  your  mouth  less  and  your 
eyes  more,  you  might  have  something  to  tell 
us,"  sneered  Hales. 

"Little  man  on  a  grullo  horse — that's 
enough  for  us — we're  goin'!"  snapped  Caney. 
"Say,  you  fellers  make  me  plumb  sick!  The 
murderer's  getting  away,  and  all  you  do  is 
blat.  We're  goin',  and  we're  goin'  now!" 

"Something  tells  me  you  won't,"  said  Pete 
Harkey. 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          177 

He  had  mysteriously  acquired  a  shotgun 
from  his  buckboard,  and  he  cocked  both  ham 
mers  with  the  word.  "Not  till  we  talk  a  little. 
According  to  your  tell,  the  killing  was  done  in 
Sierra  County.  That's  my  county,  and  we 
figure  we  are  plenty  competent  to  skin  our  own 
skunks.  Also,  we  want  one  good  long  look 
before  we  leap.  You  three  are  the  only  men 
who  can  tell  us  anything,  and  we  want  to  know 
what  you  know,  so  we'll  not  lose  time  or  make 
mistakes.  We  can't  afford  to  shoot  so  as  to  hit 
if  it's  a  deer  and  miss  if  it's  a  mule.  You 
fellers  are  excited.  What  you  need  is  a  head. 
I'll  be  head. 

"You  just  calm  down  a  little.  I'll  be  get 
ting  a  posse  together  to  go  back  and  look  into 
this.  You  can  be  fixing  to  give  us  some  idea 
what's  happened.  After  that,  these  two  boys 
can  go  with  you.  They've  seen  this  stranger 
and  they'll  know  him  on  a  fresh  horse.  All 
you  three  know  about  his  looks  is  a  blue  horse. 
I'm  going  up  where  Adam  was  killed. 
Where  was  it?  Don't  be  nervous  about  this 
gun.  I  never  shot  a  man  accidentally  in  my 
life.  Where  was  Adam  killed?" 


178         STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

"In  Redgate.  Near  the  upper  end.  We 
was  looking — " 

"That's  enough.  You  wait  till  I  send  for 
some  friends  of  mine."  Pete  raised  his  voice. 
"Girls!  Ride  over  here!  Now  you  folks 
keep  still  till  the  girls  get  away.  Toad  Hales, 
is  it?  I've  seen  you  before,  Mr.  Hales.  .  .  . 
Edith,  you  go  to  the  mill  and  tell  Jerome  I 
want  him.  Lyn,  you  go  to  Chuck  Barefoot's 
and  tell  him  to  get  Jim-Ike-Jones  and  come 
here  and  be  quick  about  it.  Then  you  girls 
go  home." 

"What  is  it,  Uncle  Pete?  Adam?"  said 
Lyn,  with  a  quivering  lip. 

"Yes,  dear.     Go  on,  now." 

"Dead?" 

"Murdered!" 

"Adam!" 

Both  girls  cried  the  name  in  an  agony  of 
horror  and  pity.  Edith  bent  to  her  horse's 
mane ;  and  Lyn  rode  straight  to  Hobby  Lull. 

"Oh,  Hobby!  Be  careful — come  back 
to  me!"  She  raised  her  lips  to  his.  He 
took  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her;  she 
clung  to  him,  shaken  with  sobbing.  "Oh, 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          179 

poor   Adam!"     She   cried.     "Poor   Adam!" 

Charlie  See  turned  away.  For  one  heart 
beat  of  flinching  his  haunted  soul  looked  from 
his  eyes;  then  with  a  gray  courage,  he  set  his 
lips  to  silence.  If  his  face  was  bleak — why 
not,  for  Adam,  his  friend? 

And  Edith  Harkey,  on  her  sad  errand, 
envied  the  happy  dead.  She,  alone  of  them 
all,  had  seen  that  stricken  face. 

"Lyn,  you  go  on,"  said  Pete.  "Get  Bare 
foot.  Then  go  home  and  find  out  where  your 
Uncle  Dan  is,  and  send  him  along  just  as  fast 
as  ever  God'll  let  him  come." 

He  turned  back  to  the  men. 

"Now,  then,  you  fellows!  Begin  at  the  be 
ginning.  Hales,  you  didn't  know  Adam,  so 
you  won't  be  so  bad  broke  up  as  the  others. 
Suppose  you  tell  us  what  you  know.  Wait  a 
minute.  Sam,  you  be  saddling  up  a  horse  for 
me.  Now,  Mr.  Hales?" 

"We  were  looking  out  for  that  gang  of  sad 
dle  thieves.  Went  up  'Pache  Canon.  Along 
in  the  park  we  saw  tracks  where  two  shod 
horses  turned  down  into  Redgate,  and  we  fol 
lowed  them  up.  One  of  'em  had  been  chas- 


i8o         STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

ing  a  bunch  of  cattle — or  so  we  thought, 
though  we  didn't  notice  that  part  very  close, 
having  no  particular  reason  for  it  then.  We'd 
looked  through  two-three  bunches  of  cattle 
ourselves  earlier,  for  Jody's  stuff." 

"Yes,  and  you  had  breakfast,  likely — but 
what  do  I  care?  You  get  on  with  your 
story." 

"Say,  old  man,"  said  Hales  in  some  exasper 
ation,  "if  you  don't  want  this  man  caught,  I'm 
satisfied.  It's  nothing  to  me.  I  didn't  know 
Forbes.  If  you  want  this  friend  of  yours  to 
get  away,  I'm  willing  to  get  down  and  stay  all 
night.  You're  pretty  overbearing  with  your 
little  old  shotgun." 

He  made  as  if  to  dismount. 

"Oh,  I  wouldn't  do  that,"  said  Pete  mildly. 
"Look  at  your  friends,  first.  They're  just  as 
overborne  as  you  are,  likely — but  you  notice 
they  are  not  making  any  complaints.  They 
know  me,  you  see.  They  know  how  Adam 
Forbes  stood  in  Garfield,  and  what  kind  of 
folks  live  in  Garfield;  and  they  know  that 
whoever  killed  Adam  is  in  trouble  up  to  his 
neck.  You  mustn't  mind  our  little  ways. 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          181 

However,  as  the  witness  is  peeved,  we'll  try 
another.  Jody,  speak  up  and  tell  us." 

"You  act  like  we  was  under  suspicion," 
sneered  Hales. 

"Sure,  you're  under  suspicion!  What  do 
you  expect?  Everybody's  under  suspicion 
till  we  find  the  right  man.  I'm  going  to  send 
word  up  and  down  to  hold  all  strangers. 
That  part  is  all  right.  Hello,  Jerome  1  You 
missed  most  of  the  evidence!  I'll  tell  you 
about  it  as  we  go  up." 

"Now  why  the  little  gun?"  said  Jerome 
Martin,  tranquilly. 

"Been  holding  an  election.  Now,  Jody — 
your  little  piece." 

"There's  not  much  to  tell.  We  found 
Adam's  body  a  little  ways  down  the  canon, 
maybe  a  quarter  or  a  little  more;  and  just 
this  side  of  it  we  found  where  a  yearling  had 
been  branded,  or  a  big  calf;  ashes  still  warm. 
Looks  just  like  this  fellow  had  been  stealing 
one  of  Adam's  calves,  and  Adam  caught  him 
at  it." 

"But  you  said  Adam  was  shot  in  the  back 
at  close  range,"  objected  Charlie.  "Adam 


i8a         STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

Forbes  wouldn't  turn  his  back  to  any 
man,  under  those  circumstances.  That  won't 
work." 

"Yes,  we  thought  of  that,"  said  Caney. 
"More  likely  he  saw  Adam  coming  and  killed 
him  before  he  got  to  the  calf — pretending  to 
be  friendly.  Anyhow,  Adam's  horse  went  off 
down  the  canon,  and  the  other  man  went 
down  the  canon,  and  we  came  after  him.  Oh, 
yes!  His  horse  lost  a  shoe,  as  we  told  you  be 
fore — the  murderer's.  Must  have  lost  it  chas 
ing  that  calf.  Tracks  didn't  show  it  in  the 
soft  ground  in  the  park,  anyhow — though  we 
didn't  look  very  close  till  we  found  Adam. 
But  after  he  left  Adam's  body  his  tracks 
showed  one  shoe  gone.  That's  all.  Adam's 
horse  bore  off  to  the  left.  He  had  a  larger 
foot  than  the  other,  and  we  could  see  where  the 
bridle  dragged." 

"I'll  send  someone  to  find  him.  You  didn't 
hear  any  shots?" 

"Oh,  no — we  just  thought  maybe  we'd 
meet  up  with  some  puncher  ridin'  the  range, 
and  ask  him  had  he  seen  any  strangers.  This 
gang  of  saddle  thieves — " 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          183 

"Yes,  I  know  about  them.  Thankee,  gen 
tlemen.  You  can  ride  now.  If  you  catch 
your  man  beyond  the  river  you  might  as  well 
take  him  on  to  Hillsboro.  Be  mighty  sure  to 
remember  not  to  forget  to  be  particular  to  take 
this  young  man  alive.  We  want  to  hang  the 
man  that  killed  Adam  Forbes.  That's  all." 

"Here,  I  want  some  cartridges,"  said 
Hobby.  He  leaped  off  and  jingled  into  the 
store.  "Hi,  Sam!  Get  me  a  box  of  forty- 
fives,"  he  called.  Then  to  Harkey,  in  a 
guarded  voice:  "Pete,  this  looks  fishy  as 
hell!  Those  ashes  were  warm,  they  said. 
Look  what  time  it  is  now — half  past  four. 
The  way  they  were  riding,  this  bunch  made 
it  from  Redgate  in  half  an  hour.  We  met 
this  stranger  near  two  hours  ago.  That  don't 
hold  together.  If  the  stranger  man  built  that 
fire,  the  ashes  would  have  been  cold  when 
Caney's  bunch  found  them.  And  they  say 
there  are  no  other  tracks.  Wrong — all 
wrong!" 

"And  all  the  rest  of  it.  Son,  I  didn't  miss 
a  bet.  Neither  did  Charlie  See.  He  looked 
hard  at  me.  Save  your  breath.  Say  nothing 


•i 84          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

and  see  everything.  You  do  your  part  and 
I'll  do  mine.  I'll  know  more  before  dark  if 
it  don't  rain  and  rub  out  the  tracks.  Our 
Father  which  is  in  Garfield  hates  a  lie,  and  he's 
fixed  up  this  here  solar  system  so  there  is  no 
safe  place  in  it  for  a  lie.  Sh-h!  Here  comes 
Caney!"  He  raised  his  voice.  "What  the 
devil  do  you  need  of  more  men?  Five  to  one 
« — what  more  do  you  want?" 

"Well,  but  we  may  lose  track  of  him  and 
>vant  to  spread  out  to  look  and  ask,  while  some 
of  us  go  on — " 

"Where  can  I  find  drinking  water?"  asked 
Caney. 

"Back  there,"  said  Pete,  pointing.  Then,  to 
Hobby:  "Well,  pick  up  someone  in  Arrey, 
then,  or  on  the  way.  I  want  the  men  round 
here  to  go  with  me  and  look  round  before  it 
gets  dark.  Say,  Sam — you  send  someone  up 
with  a  wagon  to  bring  Adam  back,  will  you? 
I'm  off — me  and  Jerome.  Tell  Jones  and 
Barefoot  to  come  right  on.  Take  care  of  my 
team  for  me." 

He  went  out  on  the  platform.  Lull  and 
Caney  followed. 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          185 

"Well,  so  long,  you  fellows,"  said  Pete. 
"Send  word  back  if  you  find  your  man.  Be 
cause  there's  going  to  be  a  lot  of  irritated 
strangers  when  we  start  to  picking  them  up." 

"We  had  some  plunder — grub  and  a  blanket 
apiece  tied  behind  our  saddles,  and  we 
dumped  it,  to  ride  light,  where  we  found 
Adam — just  kept  our  slickers,"  said  Caney. 
"Have  'em  bring  'em  in,  will  you,  Harkey?" 

"Sure,"  said  Pete. 


IX 

"This  to  the  crowd — speak  bitter,  proud  and  high, 
But  simply  to  your  friend — she  loves  you  not !" 

— Le  Bret — who  scolds. 

THE  five  pursuers  rode  swiftly,  with  in 
quiry  at  several  farms  about  the  man  on 
the  blue  horse.  Some  had  seen  him; 
some  had  not.  He  had  been  riding  slowly 
and  he  had  kept  the  main  road  to  Greenhorn. 
They  took  the  Greenhorn  Island  ford  and 
found  good  swimming.  The  quarry  had 
passed  through  Donahue's  an  hour  and  a  half 
before,  taking  the  road  to  Arrey.  They 
pushed  on  furiously.  See  and  Lull  fell  be 
hind  a  little. 

"Say,  this  is  a  rotten  deal!"  said  Charlie. 
"That  man  ain't  running  away.  Not  on  your 
life.  He  no  more  killed  Adam  Forbes  than 
I  did.  You  know  how  long  ago  we  met  him. 
If  he  was  the  man  that  built  that  branding  fire, 
how  does  it  happen  the  ashes  were  still  hot 
when  these  fellows  found  it?  By  their  tell 

and  our  timing  that  was  near  three  hours  later. 

186 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT         187 

We  met  him  about  three;  if  he  made  that  fire 
it  couldn't  have  been  later  than  two  o'clock, 
by  the  looks  of  his  horse.  And  he's  keeping 
the  same  steady  gait,  and  going  straight  for 
Hillsboro,  just  as  he  told  us.  We're  gaining 
on  him  right  along.  He's  not  trying  to  get 
away.  Either  he's  innocent  or  he's  got  the 
devil's  own  nerve." 

"Innocent.  Pete  thinks  so,  too.  This 
crowd  tells  a  fishy  story.  Did  you  notice  how 
prompt  Caney  was  to  explain  why  they  was 
there,  and  why  they  went  down  Redgate,  and 
why  the  stranger  shot  Adam,  and  how  Adam 
gave  him  a  chance  to  shoot  him  in  the  back? 
Always  Caney!  Say,  Hob,  that  man  was  too 
willing  by  half!" 

"And  that  excitement.  I  wasn't  surprised 
at  Jody,  and  I  don't  know  this  man  Hales — 
but  wouldn't  you  think  Ed  Caney  had  seen 
enough  men  killed  not  to  fight  his  head  like 
that?  He  didn't  have  much  use  for  Adam, 
either.  Adam  backed  him  down  once.  It 
was  kept  quiet,  but  Anastacio  told  me,  on  the 
dead.  It  tickled  Anastacio.  No,  sir — those 
three  fellows  acted  like  they  might  be  wishin' 


1 88          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

to  start  a  stampede.  I'm  not  satisfied  a  little 
bit." 

"A  grudge?  But  if  one  of  these  ducks  is 
in,  they're  all  in.  This  is  something  else. 
Or  of  course  it  may  have  been  some  other  per 
son  altogether,  and  these  people  may  have 
merely  lost  their  heads.  Do  you  reckon  that 
placer  hunt  of  Adam's  might  have  had  any 
thing  to  do  with  it?  Poor  old  Adam!  We'll 
find  time  to  grieve  for  him  after  we  get  the 
man  that  rubbed  him  out." 

"I  can't  hardly  realize  it.  It  won't  come 
home  to  us  till  we've  seen  him,  I  expect.  I 
keep  saying  it  over  to  myself — 'Adam's  dead' 
— but  I  don't  believe  it.  And  only  last  night 
Edith  sang  that  nightingale  song  after  him — 
poor  kid!  Say — look  at  that,  will  you? 
You'd  think  Caney  didn't  dare  trust  us  to  talk 
together." 

Caney  dropped  back  to  them. 

"Can't  you  two  get  any  action  out  of  them 
horses  of  yourn?"  he  snarled.  "It'll  soon  be 
dark  on  us.  Your  horses  are  enough  sight 
fresher  than  ours." 

Charlie  See  jumped  his  horse  up  and  reined 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          189 

him  to  his  haunches  beside  Caney,  eye  to  eye; 
he  cocked  his  hat  athwart. 

"Now,  Mr.  Ed  Caney,"  he  said  sweetly, 
"any  time  you're  not  just  satisfied  with  the  way 
I  behave  you  know  what  you  can  do.  This 
place  is  here  and  this  time  is  now.  Fly  to 
it!" 

"Why,  what's  eating  you,  Charlie?  This 
spitfire- wildcat- wolf- and-my- night-to-howl 
thing  is  a  new  lay,  isn't  it?  I  always  gave  you 
credit  for  some  sense." 

"Your  mistake,"  said  Charlie.  "You  ride 
on.  I  don't  like  deputy  sheriffs  much;  es 
pecially  deputies  from  Dona  Ana;  and  most 
extra  special  and  particular,  tall  deputies  from 
Dona  Ana  with  their  faces  pitted  with  small 
pox,  going  by  the  name  of  Ed  Caney,  and 
butting  into  my  private  conversation.  Me 
and  old  Stargazer  will  be  in  at  the  finish,  and 
we  don't  need  anybody  to  tell  us  how  fast  to 
go  or  nothing  like  that  at  all.  So  what  are 
you  going  to  do  about  it?" 

"I'm  going  to  ride  on — that's  what!"  said 
Caney.  "You  can  come  along  or  you  can  go 
to  hell— I  don't  care." 


190          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

"It's  a  cruel  world,"  said  Charlie.  "I've 
heard  people  call  you  a  fool,  but  I  know 
better,  now.  Don't  you  worry  about  us  not 
keeping  up." 

Caney  drove  home  the  spurs  and  drew 
ahead. 

They  galloped  into  Arrey. 

Yes,  they  had  seen  a  man  on  a  blue  horse. 
"Filled  his  canteen  here.  Peart  pair!  .  .  . 
Which  way?  Oh,  right  up  the  big  road  to 
Hillsb'ro — him  singin'  and  the  horse  dancin'. 
.  .  .  Oh,  maybe  half  an  hour  ago.  He  stayed 
here  quite  some  time — admirin'  the  moun 
tains,  I  judge,  and  fillin'  his  canteen — him  and 
Josie.  Better  stay  to  supper,  you-all;  looks 
mighty  like  rain  over  yonder." 

They  turned  squarely  from  the  river  valley 
and  pushed  up  the  staircase  road.  The  track 
was  clear  and  plain,  three  old  shoes  and  a  new 
one.  They  climbed  the  first  bench-land  step, 
and  saw  the  long  gray  road  blank  before  them 
in  the  last  flame-red  of  sun.  Swift  dusk 
dropped  like  a  curtain  as  they  climbed  the 
next  step  and  saw  a  slow  black  speck  far 
ahead  in  the  dim  loneliness. 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          191 

"Got  him !"  said  Jody.  "Here,  one  can  trail 
along  behind,  while  two  of  us  take  the  right 
and  two  go  on  the  left,  keeping  cover  in  little 
draws  and  behind  ridges.  We'll  have  him 
surrounded  before  he  knows  we're  after  him. 
Way  he's  riding,  we  can  head  him  off  long 
before  he  gets  to  the  Percha." 

"Fine!"  said  Hobby  Lull.  "Fine!  He 
rides  into  an  ambush  at  dark.  Guilty — he 
fights  of  course.  Innocent — of  course  he 
fights!  Any  man  with  a  bone  in  his  spinal 
column  would  fight.  First-rate  scheme,  ex 
cept  that  Charlie  See  and  me  won't  have  it. 
Innocent,  it  isn't  hospitable ;  guilty,  we  won't 
have  him  shot.  The  man  that  killed  Adam 
Forbes  has  got  to  hang." 

Leaping,  Charlie  See's  horse  whirled  on  a 
pivot  and  faced  the  others. 

"Speed  up,  Hobby,  and  tell  that  man  we're 
holding  all  strangers,  him  most  of  all.  I'll 
hold  this  bunch.  Beat  it!" 

His  voice  was  low  and  drawling;  he  barred 
the  way  with  quiet  steady  eyes.  The  storm- 
drenched  wind  blew  out  his  saddle  strings,  the 
fringed  edges  of  his  gauntlets,  the  kerchief  at 


192          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

his  neck,  the  long  tapideros  at  his  feet;  it  beat 
back  his  hat's  broad  brim,  Stargazer's  mane 
snapped  loose  and  level;  horse  and  man 
framed  against  coming  night  and  coming 
storm  in  poised  wild  energy,  centered,  strong 
and  tense. 

"You  darned  little  meddlesome  whiffet !" 
snarled  Jody  Weir  savagely,  as  Lull  galloped 
away. 

See's  gun  hand  lay  at  his  thigh.  "Talk  all 
you  like,  but  don't  get  restless  with  your  hands. 
I'm  telling  you!  Meddlesome?  That's  me. 
Matt  is  my  middle  name.  Don't  let  that 
worry  you  any.  I've  got  three  good  reasons 
for  meddling.  I  know  two  of  you,  and  I  don't 
know  the  other  one.  I  don't  like  waylaying — 
and  I  don't  like  you.  Besides,  I  love  to  med 
dle.  Always  did.  Everybody's  business  is 
my  business.  You  three  birds  keep  still  and 
look  sulky.  Be  wise,  now!  Me  and  a  rattle 
snake  has  got  the  same  motto :  You  touch  the 
button  and  I'll  do  the  rest." 

Black  above  and  furnace  flame  below,  the 
tumbling  clouds  came  rushing  from  the  hills 
with  a  mutter  of  far-off  thunder.  A  glimmer 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          193 

of  twilight  lingered,  and  sudden  stars  blazed 
across  the  half  sky  to  eastward,  unclouded  yet. 

Hobby  Lull  cupped  his  hands  and  shouted 
through  the  dusk :  "Hoo-e-ee  1" 

Johnny  Dines  halted  the  blue  horse  and 
answered  blithely :  "E-ee-hoo  1" 

"Sorry,"  said  Lull  as  he  rode  up,  "but  I've 
got  to  put  you  under  arrest." 

"Anything  serious?" 

"Yes,  it  is.  A  man  was  killed  back  there 
to-day." 

"So  you  want  my  gun,  of  course.  Here  it 
is.  Don't  mention  it.  I've  had  to  hold 
strangers  before  now,  myself." 

"It  isn't  quite  so  vague  as  that — and  I'm 
sorry,  too,"  said  Lull  awkwardly.  "This  man 
was  killed  in  Redgate  Canon  and  you  came 
through  there.  I  met  you  myself." 

"Not  that  big  red-headed  chap  I  saw 
there?" 

"That's  the  man." 

"Hell,  that's  too  bad.  Acted  like  a  good 
chap.  He  chinned  with  me  a  while — caught 
up  with  me  and  gave  me  a  letter  to  mail. 
Where  do  we  go — on  or  back?  If  you  take 


194         STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

me  to  the  John  Cross  wagon  to-morrow  they'll 
tell  you  I'm  all  right.  Down  on  the  river  no 
body  seemed  to  know  where  the  wagon  was. 
I'm  Johnny  Dines,  Phillipsburg  way.  T- 
Tumble-T  brand." 

"I've  heard  of  you — no  bad  report  either. 
You  live  on  one  county  line  and  I'm  on  the 
other.  Well,  here's  hoping  you  get  safe  out  of 
the  mess.  It  isn't  pretty.  We'll  take  you  on 
to  Hillsboro,  I  guess,  now  we're  this  close. 
There's  a  lot  more  of  us  behind,  waiting. 
Let's  go  back  and  get  them.  Then  we'll  go 


on." 


"Look  now — if  you're  going  on  to  Hills 
boro,  my  horse  has  come  a  right  smart  step  to 
day,  and  every  little  bit  helps.  Why  don't  you 
shoot  a  few  lines?  They'll  come  a-snuffin' 
then,  and  we  won't  have  to  go  back." 

Hobby  nodded.     He  fired  two  shots. 

"You  ride  a  Bar  Cross  horse,  I  see." 

"Yes.  I'm  the  last  hand."  Johnny 
grinned.  "Hark!  I  hear  them  coming. 
Sounds  creepy,  don't  it?  They're  fussed. 
Them  two  shots  have  got  'em  guessing — 
they're  sure  burning  the  breeze!  Say,  I'm  go- 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          195 

ing  to  slip  into  my  slicker.  Storm  is  right  on 
top  of  us.  Getting  mighty  black  overhead. 
Twilight  lasts  pretty  quick  in  this  country." 

Rain  spattered  in  big  drops.  Wind-blown 
flare  of  stars  and  the  last  smoky  dusk  and 
flickers  of  lightning  made  a  thin  greenish 
light.  Shadowy  horsemen  shaped  furiously 
through  the  murk,  became  clear,  and  reined 
beside  them.  Dines  took  one  look  at  them 
and  directed  a  reproachful  glance  at  his 
captor. 

"I  might  not  have  handed  over  my  gun 
so  nice  and  easy  if  I  had  known  who  was  with 
you,"  he  remarked  pleasantly.  A  high  spot 
of  color  flamed  to  his  cheek.  "Just  for  that, 
you  are  going  to  lose  the  beauties  of  my  con 
versation  from  now  on — by  advice  of  counsel. 
While  you  are  putting  on  your  slickers  I 
merely  wish  to  make  a  plain  brief  statement 
and  also  to  call  attention  to  one  of  the  many 
mercies  which  crowd  about  us,  and  for  which 
we  are  so  ungrateful.  Mercies  first:  Did 
you  ever  notice  how  splendidly  it  has  been  ar 
ranged  that  one  day  follows  directly  after  an 
other,  instead  of  in  between?  And  that 


196          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

maybe  we're  sometimes  often  quite  sorry  some 
day  for  what  we  did  or  didn't  do  some  other 
day,  or  the  reverse,  as  the  case  may  be,  or 
perhaps  the  contrary?  Now  the  statement: 
I  know  two  of  you  men,  and  I  don't  like  those 
two;  and  for  the  others,  I  don't  like  the  com 
pany  they  keep.  So  now  you  can  all  go  to 
hell,  home  or  Hillsboro,  and  take  me  with  you, 
but  I'll  not  entertain  you,  not  if  you  was  bored 
to  death.  I'm  done  and  duml> — till  I  tell  it 
to  the  judge." 


"When  the  high  heart  we  magnify 

And  the  sure  vision  celebrate, 
And  worship  greatness  passing  by— 
Ourselves  are  great." 

—-JOHN  DRINK  WATER. 

MR.  GEORGE  GWINNE  sprawled  at 
his  graceless  ease  along  two  chairs; 
he  held  a  long-stemmed  brier-wood 
pipe  between  his  bearded  lips  and  puffed 
thoughtfully.  The  pipestem  was  long  of 
necessity;  with  a  short  stem  Mr.  Gwinne  had 
certainly  set  that  beard  alight.  It  was  a 
magnificent  beard,  such  as  you  may  not  see 
in  these  degenerate  days.  Nor  did  you  see 
many  such  in  those  degenerate  days,  for  that 
matter.  It  was  long  and  thick  and  wide  and 
all  that  a  beard  should  be;  it  reached  from  his 
two  big  ears  to  below  the  fifth  rib.  It  was 
silky  and  wavy  and  curly,  and — alas  for  poor 
human  nature! — it  was  kempt  and  kept — an 
Assyrian  beard.  Yet  Mr.  George  Gwinne 
was,  of  all  the  sons  of  man,  unlikeliest  to  be  the 
victim  of  vanity.  His  beard  was  a  dusty  red 

197 


198          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

brown,  the  thick  poll  of  hair  on  his  big  square 
head  was  dusky  red  brown,  lightly  sprinkled 
with  frost,  his  big  eyes  were  reddish  brown ; 
and  Argive  Helen  might  have  envied  his 
brows,  perfect  brows  in  any  other  setting; 
merely  comic  here — no,  no,  "tragic"  is  the 
word,  since  all  else  about  the  man  was  coarse 
of  grain  and  fiber,  uncouth  and  repulsive. 

His  hands  were  big  and  awkward,  and  they 
swung  from  arms  disproportionately  long;  his 
feet  were  big  and  flat,  his  body  was  big 
and  gross,  he  was  deep-chested  and  round- 
shouldered,  his  neck  was  a  bull's  neck,  his 
ears  were  big  and  red,  his  head  was  big  and 
coarse  and  square,  his  face  was  gnarled  where 
it  was  not  forested,  his  chance-seen  lips  were 
big  and  coarse,  his  nose  was  a  monstrous  beak, 
his  voice  was  a  hoarse  deep  rumble.  And 
somewhere  behind  that  rough  husk  dwelt  a 
knightly  soul,  kindly  and  tender  and  sensitive 
— one  of  that  glorious  company,  "who  plotted 
to  be  worthy  of  the  world." 

He  had  friends — yes,  and  they  held  him 
high — but  seeming  and  report  held  him 
pachyderm,  and  they  trod  upon  his  heart. 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          199 

Only  to  a  few  have  time  and  chance  shown 
a  glimpse  of  the  sad  and  lonely  spirit  behind 
those  tired  eyes — and  they  have  walked  sof  tlier 
all  their  days  for  it.  This  is  not  his  story;  but 
there  will  be  a  heavy  reckoning  when  George 
Gwinne's  account  goes  to  audit. 

Mr.  Gwinne's  gaze  rested  benignantly  on 
a  sleeping  man;  a  young  and  smallish  man, 
very  different  from  Mr.  Gwinne  in  every  re 
spect,  sprightly  and  debonair,  even  in  sleep, 
with  careless  grace  in  every  line  of  him,  just 
as  he  had  thrown  himself  upon  the  bunk.  He 
had  removed  hat  and  boots  by  way  of  prepara 
tion  for  bed,  and  his  vest  served  for  a  pillow. 
Long  lashes  lay  on  a  cheek  lightly  tanned  to 
olive,  but  his  upper  forehead  was  startling 
white  by  contrast,  where  a  heavy  hat  had 
shaded  it  from  burning  suns.  His  hands  were 
soft  and  white;  the  gloved  hands  of  a  rider  in 
his  youth.  The  bunk,  it  may  be  mentioned, 
was  behind  iron  bars;  Mr.  Gwinne  was  chief 
deputy  and  jailer,  and  the  sleeper  was  Mr. 
Johnny  Dines. 

Mr.  Gwinne  tapped  out  his  pipe  and  spoke 
huskily:  "Young  feller,  get  up!  Can't  you 


200          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

hear   the  little   birds   singing   their   praises 


to—" 


"Ur-rgh!  Ugh!  Ar-rumph-umph!"  said 
Johnny,  sitting  up. 

He  started  a  little  as  his  eyes  fell  on  the 
bars.  He  pulled  his  shoulders  together. 
Recollection  followed  puzzlement  on  his  yet 
unguarded  face ;  he  passed  his  fingers  through 
his  tousled  hair,  making  further  tanglement. 
He  looked  at  the  absurd  gigantic  figure  be 
yond  the  bars,  and  his  eyes  crinkled  to  smiling. 
Then  his  face  took  on  an  expression  of  discon 
tent.  He  eyed  his  bed  with  frank  distaste. 

"I  say,  old  top — no  offense,  and  all  that, 
but  look  now — I've  never  been  in  jail  before. 
Is  the  establishment  all  scientific  and  every 
thing?  No  objectionable — er — creepers,  you 
know?" 

"Why,  you  impudent  young  whelp !  Damn 
your  hide,  I  sleep  here  myself.  If  there's  a 
grayback  in  my  jail  I'll  eat  your  shirt.  What 
in  time  do  you  mean  by  it,  hey?  Pulling 
my  leg?  You'd  a  heap  better  be  studying 
about  your  silly  neck,  you  young  devil.  Come 
out  of  that,  nowl  Nine  o'clock,  past.  Wish 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          201 

I  had  your  conscience.  Ten  hours'  solid  sleep 
and  still  going  strong." 

"Gee,  why  didn't  you  wake  me  up?  Are 
they  going  to  hold  my  preliminary  trial  this 
morning  or  wait  till  after  dinner?  I'm  sort 
of  interested  to  see  what  indiscriminating  evi 
dence  they've  got." 

"No  trial  to-day,"  said  Gwinne  gruffly. 
"Justice  of  the  peace  is  up  in  the  hills  beyond 
Kingston,  doin'  assessments.  They've  gone 
after  him,  but  they  won't  get  back  till  late 
to-night." 

"H'm!"  Johnny  rubbed  his  nose  and  looked 
searchingly  at  his  ridiculously  small  and 
shapely  feet;  he  wriggled  his  toes.  "And 
don't  I  eat  till  His  Honor  gets  back?"  he  in 
quired  diffidently. 

Gwinne  rose  heavily  and  shambled  to  the 
cell.  "If  I  let  you  out  to  eat  breakfast  with 
me  like  a  white  man — no  pranks?" 

"Nary  prank,"  said  Johnny. 

"She  goes,"  said  Gwinne. 

He  unlocked  the  door.  Johnny  slipped  on 
his  high-heeled  boots  and  followed  his  jailer 
to  the  kitchen. 


202         STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

"Water  and  washpan  over  there,"  said 
Gwinne,  and  poked  fresh  wood  in  the  fire. 
"Ham  and  eggs  this  A.  M."  He  rumbled  a 
subterranean  ditty: 

Ham-fat,  ham-fat,  smoking  in  the  pan — 

There  s  a  mighty  sight  of  muscle  on  a  ham-fat  man. 

Johnny  sent  an  amused  glance  up  and  down 
his  warden's  inches. 

"You  must  have  been  raised  on  it,  then." 

"Hog  and  hominy.  There's  a  comb  and 
brush." 

"Got  a  comb."  Johnny  fumbled  comb 
and  toothbrush  from  his  vest,  and  com 
pleted  his  toilet.  "Haven't  you  had  break 
fast  yet?" 

"Naw.  I  hated  to  wake  you  up,  you  was 
hitting  it  off  so  regular.  And  you're  the  only 
prisoner  I  got  now.  Court's  just  over  and  the 
sheriff  he's  gone  to  Santa  Fe  with  my  only 
boarders.  Lord  only  knows  when  he'll  get 
back,"  said  Mr.  Gwinne  parenthetically. 
"Jim  is  a  good  sheriff,  a  mighty  good  sheriff — 
but  when  he  gets  away  from  home  he  sees  life 
through  a  glass  darkly.  They  had  him  in  jail, 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          203 

last  time.  So  I  thought  we  might  as  well  be 
sociable." 

"Oh!  Then  you're  the  party  for  me  to 
jolly  up  when  I  want  favors?" 

"No,"  said  Gwinne  regretfully,  "Fin  not. 
The  justice  is  gone,  the  sheriff's  gone,  and  the 
district  judge  is  always  gone  except  when 
court  sits  here.  But  the  prosecuting  attorney 
— he  serves  for  the  whole  district,  five  counties, 
like  the  judge,  you  know — why,  by  bad  luck, 
he's  right  here,  a-hoppin'  and  a-rarin'.  So 
I'm  under  orders." 

"Well,  so  am  I.  What  are  they?  What 
can  I  do  to  help?"  The  ham  sizzled  merrily. 
"Um-m!"  said  Johnny  appreciatively. 

"You  might  set  the  table.  I'll  do  the  cook 
ing  to-day.  If  so  be  you  get  to  be  a  star 
boarder  you'll  have  to  do  your  share  of  the 
cooking — though  I  reckon  they'll  want  me  to 
keep  you  under  key  if  you're  bound  over. 
Come  to  think,  this  prosecuting  person  would 
likely  kick  like  a  green  bay  horse  if  he  knew 
I  was  lettin'  you  mill  round  foot-loose.  How 
ever,  he  don't  know.  How  many  eggs? 
Hard  or  soft?" 


204         STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

"Oh,  about  four — medium.  We  can  al 
ways  cook  more  if  we  have  to.  And  four 
pods  of  chili.  But  why  has  the  prosecutor  got 
it  in  for  me?  He  don't  want  to  cinch  me  un 
less  I'm  guilty,  does  he?" 

"It  isn't  that,  exactly.  You  see,  it  has  got 
out  that  you  ride  for  the  Bar  Cross.  And  the 
Bar  Cross  boys  got  Wade's  goat,  some  way, 
down  in  Cruces.  I  don't  know  what  they  did, 
but  he's  sure  on  the  peck,  and  here's  where  he 
stands  to  break  even.  Pour  the  coffee.  Tin 
cow  yonder  on  the  shelf." 

"Oh,  well — he  may  have  a  little  fun  com 
ing  to  him,"  said  Johnny  generously.  "But 
let  us  hope,  for  his  own  sake,  that  he  gives 
me  a  fair  shake  when  it  comes  to  my  trial.  If 
the  Bar  Cross  and  the  John  Cross  aren't  just 
satisfied  they  are  capable  of  any  rudeness — 
abandoned  ruffians!  Say,  I  hope  someone 
took  care  of  my  Twilight  horse." 

"He's  all  right.  I  put  him  up  with 
Otto  Cans,  myself.  There,  she's  ready. 
Sientese!"  The  jailer  seated  himself  op 
posite  the  guest.  "No  butter.  You'll  have  to 


excuse  me." 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          205 

"Butter,  hell.  Whadya  think  I  am — an  in 
cubator  kid?  Say,  there's  a  few  old  vets 
here  in  Hillsboro  that  used  to  know  my  dad — 
me,  too,  when  I  was  a  little  shaver,  some  of 
them.  Spinal  Maginnis,  George  Perrault, 
Kayler,  Nick  Galles  and  Preisser.  H'm, 
let  me  see — and  Jake  Blun,  Mabury  and 
Page.  Could  you  manage  me  a  palaver 
with  some  one  or  two  of  'em  after  break 
fast?" 

"Pleasure  first,  pain  afterwards,"  growled 
Gwinne.  "You  eat  a  few  lines  while  I  hold 
high  discourse  to  you  about  the  good  and 
great.  District  attorneys,  now.  Us  being  a 
territory  thataway,  district  attorneys  are  ap 
pointed  by  the  President — allee  same  like  our 
judges  and  U.  S.  marshals  and  clerks  of  the 
court.  All  of  'em  are  appointed  for  four 
years,  the  same  being  the  President's  term. 
Presidents  being  so  constituted  by  a  wise  and 
beneficent  Providence,  they  appoint  men  from 
states  where  said  men  and  their  friends,  if  any, 
vote  for  President,  and  not  from  our  humble 
midst.  'Cause  why?  We're  not  allowed  to 
vote.  More  coffee?" 


206         STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

Johnny  held  his  cup.     Gwinne  took  up  his 
discourse. 

"Also,  and  moreover,  they  appoint  poli 
ticians.  We  will  not  pursue  this  painful  sub 
ject  further  except  to  add  that,  New  Mexico' 
being  what  and  where  it  is,  these  appointees, 
while  they  might  be  first-class  men  and  seldom 
were — they  were  always  tenth-rate  politicians. 
Because  politicians  rated  higher  than  tenth- 
rate  demanded  something  better.  Yes.  When 
Grover  was  in,  they  all  came  from  Missouri, 
and  they  wasn't  so  bad  but  what  they  might 
have  been  worse,  with  proper  care.  And  now 
they're  all  from  darkest  Injianny;  a  doubtful 
state.  Something  else,  too.  Even  when  they 
was  well-meaning — which  often  was  guessable 
— why,  they're  not  our  people.  We  have  our 
little  ways  and  they  have  their  own  little  ways, 
and  they're  not  the  same  little  ways ;  and  they 
rule  us  by  their  little  ways.  That's  bad.  To 
judge  a  man  by  the  standards  of  another  time 
and  place  is  prejudging,  and  that  means  op 
pression,  and  oppression  breeds  riots  in  hell. 
That  is  how  most  trouble  starts,  I  reckon — not 
understanding,  prejudging.  Men  don't  natu- 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          207 

rally  like  to  press  down.  They'd  a  heap 
rather  comfort  and  help — if  they  could  just 
see  the  way  clear.  Helping  someone  out  of  a 
tight  is  just  about  the  pleasantest  thing  a  man 
can  do.  But  these  people  Uncle  Sam  sends 
here  to  manage  us,  they  don't  think  our 
thoughts  and  they  don't  speak  our  tongue. 
They  ask  for  brick  and  we  bring  them  mortar; 
they  ask  for  bread  and  we  rock  'em  to  sleep. 
That's  the  way  I  look  at  it.  Won't  you  coin 
cide  with  me?" 

"Why,  yes,"  said  Johnny,  "now  that  you 
mention  it — I  don't  care  if  I  do." 

The  jailer  eyed  his  captive  with  painful  dis 
trust.  Then  he  sighed  heavily. 

"Flippant  and  inattentive!  A  bad  mark. 
Nine  more  demerits  and  you'll  be  suspended." 
He  rose  and  went  to  a  closet  and  returned  with 
a  bottle  and  glasses.  "A  long  drop  and  a 
quick  finish!" 

"Wishing  you  the  same!"  said  Johnny 
Dines.  The  glasses  clinked  together. 

"So  you  be  advised  and  don't  waive  ex 
amination,"  resumed  Gwinne.  "Wade  will 
want  you  to  do  that.  Don't  you  listen  to 


2o8          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

Wade.  You  make  your  fight  to-morrow. 
Old  Andy  Hinkle,  the  J.  P.,  he's  a  homespun. 
When  he  hits  a  drill  he  hits  her  with  all  his 
carcass,  from  the  ground  up,  and  when  he  goes 
a-judging,  justice  is  what  he  wants.  His  habit 
and  disposition  is  real  earnest  and  he  mostly 
brings  back  what  he  goes  after.  You  could 
rake  all  hell  with  a  fine-tooth  comb  and  not 
find  a  worse  man  to  try  you — if  you  killed 
Adam  Forbes.  If  you  did  kill  him  you're 
goin'  to  lose  your  shadow  soon — and  there's 
your  fortune  told,  right  now." 

"It  is  my  thinking  that  I  will  make  old 
bones  yet,  and  tell  tales  in  the  chimney  corner. 
Now  you  sit  back  and  smoke  while  I  wash 
up,"  said  Johnny,  gathering  up  the  dishes.  "I 
gotta  ingratiate  myself  with  you,  you  know. 
Go  on,  now — tell  us  some  more.  And  how 
about  me  having  a  confidential  with  my 
friends?" 

"That's  just  it.  I  was  a-preparing  of  your 
mind,  so  you  wouldn't  be  disappointed  too 
much.  This  prosecuting  person,  Wade — he 
done  instructed  me  not  to  let  you  see  anyone 
except  your  lawyer." 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          209 

"Lawyer,  hell!  What  do  I  want  of  a 
lawyer?" 

"Oh!  Then  you  claim  to  be  innocent,  do 
you?"  Gwinne's  silken  brows  arched  in  as 
sumed  astonishment. 

"Well,  I  hope  so!"  said  Johnny  indignantly. 
"If  I  was  claiming  to  be  guilty,  why  confab 
with  my  friends?  Say,  this  is  one  raw  deal  if 
a  fellow  can't  get  an  even  break." 

"Wade  claims  you  might  frame  up  some 
thing.  He  was  particularly  anxious  the  John 
Cross  shouldn't  hear  of  it  until  after  your  pre 
liminary.  Undue  influence  and  all  that." 

"Frame  up  my  foot!  I  didn't  kill  that  man 
and  I  reckon  I  can  prove  it  if  I  have  any 
chance  to  know  wrhat  evidence  they're  going 
to  bring  against  me."  Again  that  angry  spot 
glowed  on  the  clear  olive  of  his  cheek.  "How 
can  I  study  it  over  when  I  don't  know  what's 
happened  or  what  is  said  to  have  happened? 
I'll  have  to  go  to  trial  in  the  dark — no  chance 
to  cipher  on  what's  what,  like  I  would  if  I  had 
a  chance  to  thresh  it  out  with  my  friends." 

"Well,"  said  Gwinne  gently,  "what's  the 
matter  with  me?" 


210          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

"So  that's  all?"  said  Gwinne,  after  Dines 
had  told  his  story.  "Sure  of  it?" 

"Absolutely.  He  rode  up  while  I  was 
branding  my  long-ear.  He  gave  me  a  letter 
to  mail  and  gassed  while  he  smoked  a  cig,  and 
wandered  back  the  way  he  came,  while  I 
oozed  away  down  the  canon.  No  more,  no 
less.  Said  he  was  prospecting,  he  did — or  did 
he?"  Johnny  reflected;  remembering  then 
that  Forbes  in  giving  him  a  letter  to  mail  had 
mentioned  location  notices.  "Yes,  he  did." 

With  the  words  another  memory  came  into 
his  mind,  of  the  trouble  with  Jody  Weir  on 
day  herd — about  another  letter,  that  was. 
This  memory — so  Johnny  assured  himself — 
flashed  up  now  because  Weir  was  one  of  his 
five  accusers.  No — there  were  only  three  ac 
cusers,  as  he  understood  it  from  the  talk  of  the 
night  before ;  three  accusers,  five  to  arrest  him. 
Yet  only  one  had  come  actually  to  make  the 
arrest.  Queer  1 

"Now,"  said  Johnny,  "it's  your  turn." 

He  curled  a  cigarette  and  listened.  Early 
in  the  recital  he  rubbed  his  nose  to  stimulate 
thought;  but  later  developments  caused  him 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          211 

to  transfer  that  attention  to  his  neck,  which 
he  stroked  with  caressing  solicitude.  Once  he 
interrupted. 

"I  never  stole  a  calf  in  a  bare  open  hillside, 
right  beside  a  wagon  road,  never  in  my  whole 
life,"  he  protested  indignantly.  "As  an  ex 
perienced  man,  does  that  look  reasonable  to 
you?" 

"No,  it  don't,"  said  Gwinne.  "But  that's 
the  story.  Adam  was  found  close  by  your  fire 
— shot  in  the  back  and  dragged  from  the 
stirrup;  shot  as  he  rode,  so  close  up  that  his 
shirt  took  fire.  And  no  one  rode  in  Redgate 
yesterday,  but  you,  and  those  three,  and  Adam 
Forbes." 

"Yes.  That  might  very  well  be  true,"  said 
Johnny. 

"It  is  true.  They  wouldn't  dare  tell  it  that 
way  if  it  wasn't  true.  Tracks  show  for  them 
selves.  And  they  knew  that  good  men  would 
be  reading  those  tracks." 

The  prisoner  rose  and  walked  a  little  before 
he  made  answer.  When  he  spoke  at  last  it  was 
in  a  more  serious  tone. 

"You  see,  I've  got  inside  information.     I 


212         STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

know  several  things  you  don't  know,  that  give 
a  different  meaning  to  all  this  evidence  and 
all  these  tracks." 

"Well,"  said  Gwinne,  "you  need  it.  A 
horse's  track  leads  from  the  dead  man  to  Gar- 
field — a  track  that  lacks  one  shoe." 

"My  horse  had  lost  a  shoe,"  said  Johnny. 

"Yes.  You  tacked  one  on  him  at  Sam 
Gray's  store.  But  that  is  not  the  worst.  The 
worst  is  that  there  are  three  of  them  and  only 
one  of  you."  Johnny  felt  of  his  neck  again, 
delicately.  "By  your  tell  there  isn't  any  man 
in  the  world  to  help  out  your  bare  word.  If 
you  have  any  fresh  dope,  spill  it." 

"I  happen  to  be  in  a  position  to  state  cer 
tainly,  at  first  hand,  something  which  modifies 
the  other  evidence,"  said  Dines  slowly  and 
confidentially.  "I  happen  to  know  positively 
that  I  didn't  murder  that  man.  That's  ex 
clusive.  You  only  hear  me  say  it — but  I  know 
it.  So  you  mustn't  be  hurt  if  I'm  not  con 
vinced.  If  the  horse  tracks  say  I'm  the 
killer — the  tracks  are  wrong,  that's  all.  Or 
wrongly  read.  You  will  be  best  served  if  you 
either  accept  the  full  assurance  of  my  guilt, 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT         213 

and  so  base  your  deductions  on  that,  or  else  ac 
cept  my  innocence  as  sure,  and  read  sign  with 
that  in  mind.  It  gets  you  nowhere  to  fit  those 
tracks  to  both  theories.  Such  evidence  will  fit 
in  with  the  truth  to  the  last  splinter,  like  two 
broken  pieces  of  one  stick.  It  won't  fit  ex 
actly  with  any  lie,  not  the  cleverest;  there'll 
be  a  crack  here,  a  splinter  left  over  there,  un 
accountable.  For  instance,  if  my  accusers  are 
right,  the  dead  man's  horse  went  down  Red- 
gate  ahead  of  me ;  my  tracks  will  be  on  top  of 
his  wherever  we  took  the  same  trail." 

"Exactly.  That's  what  they  say.  They 
might  have  been  mistaken.  It  is  hard  and 
stony  ground." 

"They  may  have  been  mistaken,  yes. 
Someone  else  will  see  those  tracks.  Now  you 
listen  close.  Listen  hard.  If  it  turns  out  that 
Jody  Weir  and  his  two  pardners,  coming  down 
Redgate  on  a  run  to  give  the  alarm,  rode  over 
and  rubbed  out  all  tracks  made  by  my  horse 
and  the  dead  man's  horse,  wherever  they 
crossed  each  other — then  that's  another  mis 
take  they  made.  For  when  I  left  Forbes  there 
were  only  two  fresh  tracks  in  the  canon — 


2i4         STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

tracks  of  two  fresh-shod  horses  going  up  the 
canon,  keeping  to  the  road,  and  made  yester 
day.  I'm  sorry  they  didn't  take  me  back  to 
Garfield.  I  would  have  liked  a  peek  at  those 
tracks  myself." 

"But  it  rained,  and  it  rained  hard." 

Johnny  felt  of  his  neck  again. 

"She  sure  did,"  he  agreed.  "Started  just  as 
this  man  Lull  picked  me,  like  fruit  on  the 
bough.  I  forgot  that.  Well,  anyway,  if  this 
Garfield  place  is  half  human,  then  a  slew  of 
men  went  up  Redgate  Canon  before  the  rain. 
There  must  have  been  some  live  ones  in  the 
bunch." 

"I  wouldn't  worry  about  that  none  if  I  was 
you,"  said  the  jailer.  "I  know  Garfield,  and 
I  know  old  Pete  Harkey,  and  he  was  taking 
the  lead.  If  Adam's  horse  came  down  the 
canon  after  you  did,  he'll  know  it.  And  if 
your  track  and  the  other  were  carefully  ridden 
out  where  they  crossed — why,  old  Pete  will 
see  that,  too." 

Johnny  raised  his  hand.  "That's  what  he 
will  see!  Hold  that  idea  tight — squeeze  it! 
If  I  am  innocent,  those  tracks  were  ridden  out 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT         215 

and  spoiled,  till  Adam  Forbes'  horse  went  one 
jvay  and  mine  another." 

"Well,  then— Pete  Harkey'll  see  that,  too; 
he  will  think  about  it  once  and  twice.  Don't 
you  worry.  Jerome  Martin  and  Jim-Ike- 
Jones  went  along,  too,  and  old  man  Fenderson, 
maybe.  They'll  see.  That's  what  they're  go 
ing  for." 

"Hearsay  evidence  is  no  good  in  court.  So 
I'm  going  to  prophesy  in  writing — with  you 
to  witness  and  swear  to  the  time  of  it — that  all 
tracks  this  side  of  the  murdered  man  are 
muddled.  That  written  prophecy  may  not  be 
evidence,  but  it  will  make  the  judge  scratch 
his  head." 

"As  much  as  to  say — " 

"Exactly.  Someone  killed  Adam  Forbes. 
You  don't  want  to  forget  that.  If  it  wasn't 
me — who  was  it?  Well,  let  me  tell  you  some 
thing.  It  was  a  mean  man.  Now  you  keep 
still  a  little,  while  I  think  over  the  meanest 
man  I've  seen  lately." 

Johnny  rolled  another  smoke ;  and  when  it 
was  alight  he  spoke  again. 

"Curious,  when  we  come  to  think  of  it, 


2i6         STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

but  the  meanest  things  a  man  can  do  is  what 
he  does  with  his  mouth.  To  kiss  and  tell,  for 
instance;  betrayal  under  trust.  We  go  to 
church  and  hear  about  the  crucifixion.  We 
have  no  hatred  for  the  hands  that  drove  the 
nails  or  the  soldier  who  stood  guard — scarcely 
for  the  fanatics  who  hounded  the  innocent  to 
a  shameful  death.  Our  loathing  is  for  Judas 
Iscariot,  who  betrayed  with  a  kiss." 

Gwinne  eyed  his  captive  benevolently. 

"Good  land  of  Goshen,  son — what  on  earth 
has  all  this  got  to  do  with  the  price  of  hemp?" 

"Everything  to  do  with  it.  Demand  for 
hemp  is  going  to  fluctuate  violently  if  I  can 
swing  the  deal  I  have  in  mind,"  replied 
Johnny,  with  spirit.  "I  was  just  thinking 
about  two  traitors  I  know." 

In  a  prolonged  silence  Mr.  Gwinne  rum 
pled  his  beard  and  refilled  his  pipe. 

"The  two  Garfield  men  and  the  other  three 
did  not  seem  to  be  agreeing  very  well,"  he  said 
at  last.  "Lull — he's  the  one  who  arrested  you 
— he  went  back  to  Garfield  last  night. 
Couldn't  sleep,  he  said,  and  they'd  be  wanting 
to  know  in  Garfield.  The  other  one,  See,  the 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT         217 

least  one,  he  was  round  here  soon  this  morning 
wanting  to  talk  it  up  with  you.  He  was  real 
feverish  about  the  quarantine." 

Johnny  cocked  his  head  impishly  and 
looked  sidelong  at  the  jailer. 

"Just  what  was  the  big  idea  for  sending  one 
man  to  arrest  me?" 

"They  didn't  say." 

"And  why  were  they  all  crosswise  with  each 
other,  like  jackstraws?" 

"They  didn't  tell  me  that  either." 

"You're  allowed  three  guesses." 

Gwinne  puffed  unhurriedly  at  his  pipe,  and 
after  some  meditation  delivered  himself  of  a 
leisurely  statement  between  puffs. 

"About  a  year  ago,  near  as  I  can  remember, 
this  man  Caney — Big  Ed  Caney — deputy 
sheriff  in  Dona  Ana — did  you  know  that? 
Thought  not.  Well,  he  went  out  beyond 
Hatch  with  a  warrant  for  a  fellow.  He  found 
another  man — old  Mexican  sheep  herder — cut 
down  on  him  with  a  rifle  and  ordered  him  to 
throw  'em  up.  The  old  Mexican  was  scared 
or  else  he  remembered  something,  I  don't 
know  which;  he  was  perfectly  innocent  of 


218         STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

this  particular  charge,  whatever  it  was;  they 
caught  the  other  man  later.  Anyhow  the  old 
gentleman  made  a  dash  for  his  gun — it  was 
leaning  up  against  a  tree  not  far  away.  And 
Caney  killed  him." 

"So  you  think  maybe  Caney  wanted  to  start 
something.  Ambush,  maybe?  So  I'd  go 
after  my  gun?" 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  what  Caney 
wanted  to  do  or  didn't  want  to  do.  All  I 
know  is — he  didn't." 

"And  the  Garfield  boys  wouldn't  stand  for 
it?"  persisted  Johnny. 

"Lull  and  Charlie  See  won't  stand  for  any 
crooked  work — if  it's  them  you  mean.  Lull 
was  the  only  Garfield  man.  Charlie  See  is 
from  Dona  Ana,  where  they  grow  good  and 
bad,  same  as  they  do  here." 

"Yes.  I  see.  I  know  Jody  and  Toad 
Hales,  myself.  I  met  Lull  and  See  yesterday 
evenin',  just  out  of  Garfield.  Say,  Mr. 
Gwinne,  could  you  rustle  me  a  razor?" 

"I  can  too.  Anything  else  on  your  mind?" 
,  no.  Only  I  wish  I  knew  where  the 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          219 

John  Cross  outfit  is  holding  forth,  and  when 
they  are  likely  to  get  word  about  me  being 
in  a  tight.  They  may  hear  to-day,  and  it  may 
be  a  week." 

"They're  up  beyond  Hermosa,  somewhere 
at  the  head  of  Cuchillo  Creek.  And  I 
shouldn't  much  wonder  if  they  heard  about 
you  to-day  sometime."  Mr.  Gwinne  looked 
through  the  window  at  the  visible  wedge  of 
Hillsboro,  wavy  low  hills  and  winding  streets; 
looked  with  long  and  lingering  interest,  and 
added  irrelevantly:  "I  knew  your  father." 

Late  that  afternoon  a  heavy  knock  came 
at  the  outer  door  of  the  jail.  Gwinne  hustled 
his  prisoner  into  a  cell  and  answered  the  call. 

He  was  greeted  at  the  door  by  Aloys  Preis- 
ser,  the  assayer,  a  gay-hearted  old  Bavarian — 
the  same  for  whom,  in  his  youth,  Preisser  Hill 
was  named — and  by  Hobby  Lull.  Hobby's 
face  was  haggard  and  drawn;  there  were  dark 
circles  under  his  eyes. 

"We  want  to  settle  a  bet,"  announced 
Hobby,  "and  we're  leaving  it  to  you.  I  say 


220         STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

that  Robin  Hood  knocked  out  the  Proud 
Sheriff  of  Nottingham,  and  Preisser  claims  it 
was  a  draw.  How  about  it?" 

"Hood  got  the  decision  on  points,"  said 
Gwinne  soberly. 

"There !  What  did  I  tell  you,  you  old  hunk 
of  Limburger?"  Hobby  Lull  laid  hands 
delicately  upon  his  adversary's  short  gray 
beard  and  tugged  it  with  deferential  gentle 
ness.  The  unresisting  head  wagged  sedately 
to  and  fro.  "Take  that,  you  old  bug  hunter  1" 
said  Hobby,  and  stood  back,  waiting. 

The  assayer  became  statuesque. 

"You  see,  Mister  Deputy?  He  has  assauldt 
gommitted,  and  you  a  witness  are.  With 
abusive  language  1" 

"The  wienerwurst  is  yet  to  come,"  observed 
Lull,  in  a  voice  sepulchral  and  ominous. 

"With  threats  also,  and  insults — abandoned 
ruffian!  Desperate!  Catiline!  Officer — do 
your  duty!  I  make  demand  of  you.  Dake 
dot  mon  into  gustody!"  Preisser's  eyes  were 
dancing  as  he  fought  down  a  grin. 

Mr.  Gwinne  regarded  the  impassioned  dis 
putants  with  grave  eyes. 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          221 

"You  are  under  arrest,  Mr.  Lull,"  he  said 
with  somber  official  severity.  "Can  you  give 
bail?" 

"Not  one  red  cent." 

"Come  in,  then." 

Lull  followed  through  the  door.  Turning, 
he  smiled  back  at  the  little  assayer.  Preisser 
winked. 

"I'll  have  to  lock  you  up,  you  know,"  said 
Gwinne.  "District  attorney  particularly  de 
sired  that  no  one  should  hold  communication 
with  Dines,  over  yonder."  He  locked  Lull 
in  a  cell;  forgetfully  leaving  the  key  in  the 
lock.  "Don't  try  to  shout  across  to  Dines, 
now,"  he  warned.  "I'll  hear  you.  Well,  I'll 
be  meanderin'  along  to  the  kitchen  and  start 
ing  supper." 

Hobby  reached  through  the  bars  and  turned 
the  key.  He  went  over  to  Johnny's  cell. 

"Well,  Dines,  how  goes  it?  You  don't  look 
much  downhearted." 

"I'm  not,"  said  Johnny.  "I'm  sorry  about 
the  dead  man,  of  course.  But  I  didn't  know 
him,  and  you  can't  expect  me  to  feel  like  you 
do.  I'm  right  as  rain — but  I  can't  say  as  much 


222          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

for  you.  You  look  like  you'd  been  dragged 
through  a  knothole." 

"No  sleep.  I  went  back  to  Garfield,  made 
medicine,  and  hurried  back  here.  Seventy- 
five  miles  now,  after  a  day's  work  and  not 
much  sleep  the  night  before.  I  thought  you'd 
be  having  your  prelim,  you  see,  or  I'd  have 
waited  over.  Didn't  know  that  Judge  Hinkle 
was  out  of  town." 

"Any  news?" 

"Yes,"  said  Hobby,  "there  is." 

He  held  out  his  hand.  Johnny  took  it, 
through  the  bars. 

"You  don't  think  I  killed  your  friend, 
then?" 

"I  know  you  didn't.  But,  man — we  can't 
prove  it.  Not  one  scrap  of  evidence  to  bring 
into  court.  Just  a  sensing  and  a  hunch — 
against  a  plain,  straight,  reasonable  story,  with 
three  witnesses.  You  are  It." 

"Now  you  can't  sometimes  most  always 
ever  tell,"  said  Johnny.  "Besides,  you're 
tired  out.  Get  you  a  chair  and  tell  it  to  me. 
I've  been  asleep.  Also,  you  and  I  have  had 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          223 

some  few  experiences  not  in  common  before 
our  trails  crossed  yesterday.  I  may  do  a  little 
sensing  myself.  Tell  it  to  me." 

"Well,  after  Caney's  crowd  told  us  Adam 
was  killed  in  Redgate,  Uncle  Pete  and  a  bunch 
went  up  there  hotfoot.  They  found  every 
thing  just  about  as  Caney  told  it.  There  was 
your  track,  with  one  shoe  gone,  and  Adam's 
horse  with  the  bridle  dragging — till  he  broke 
it  off— " 

"And  where  those  two  tracks  crossed,"  inter 
rupted  Johnny,  "those  fellows  had  ridden  over 
the  trail  till  you  couldn't  tell  which  was  on 
top." 

Hobby  stared. 

"How  did  you  know  that?  Uncle  Pete  was 
all  worked  up  over  it.  I  never  heard  him  so 
powerful  before,  on  any  subject." 

"You're  tired  out,  so  you  can't  see  straight," 
said  Johnny.  "Also,  I  know  that  when  I  came 
down  Redgate  there  were  no  fresh  tracks  head 
ing  this  way.  If  those  three  men  killed 
Forbes  and  want  to  saw  it  off  on  me — then 
they  confused  that  trail  on  purpose.  If  they 


224          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

didn't  kill  Forbes,  and  muddled  the  tracks 
that  way,  they're  half-wits.  And  they're  not 
half-wits.  Go  on." 

"They  found  poor  old  Adam  and  your  fire. 
They  pushed  on  ahead  to  read  all  the  sign 
they  could  before  dark.  Up  in  the  park 
there'd  been  a  heap  of  riding  back  and  forth. 
Just  at  dark  they  found  where  a  bunch  of  cattle 
had  been  headed  and  had  gone  over  the  divide 
into  Deadman  and  gone  on  down.  Then  the 
rain  came — and  the  rest  is  mud." 

"Yes.  It  rained.  There  was  a  little  low 
gap  to  the  north  from  where  I  branded  my 
calf.  If  anybody  had  been  there  making 
tracks — those  cattle  would  blot  'em  out." 
Johnny  began  to  laugh.  "Look,  amlgo — all 
this  dope  seems  fairly  reasonable  and  night- 
mareish,  turn  about,  as  we  see  it  across  thirty 
miles  and  twenty-four  hours — but  it  is  a  safe 
guess  that  some  folks  didn't  sleep  much  last 
night.  They  know  all  about  it,  and  I  reckon 
when  they  got  to  thinking  it  over  it  seemed  to 
them  like  the  whole  story  was  printed  in  letters 
a  mile  high.  Scared?  I  guess  yes.  I'd  hate 
to  trade  places  with  'em  right  now.  And  be- 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          225 

fore  it  rained — oh,  mamma!  I  bet  they  was 
tickled  to  see  that  rain!  Well,  go  on.  Pro 
ceed.  Give  us  some  more." 

"The  further  I  go  the  less  you'll  like  it," 
said  Lull.  "Pete  and  his  hand-picked  posse 
stayed  up  there  and  scattered  out  at  daylight, 
for  general  results.  They  found  one  of 
Adam's  cows  with  a  big  fresh-branded  calf — 
branded  yesterday.  Dines,  you're  up  against 
it — hard!  It's  going  to  look  black  to  any 
jury.  That  calf  carried  your  brand — T- 
Tumble-Tl" 

"  'Hellfire  and  damnation — make  my  bed 
soon!'  "  said  Johnny.  "The  boy  stood  on  the 
burning  deck,  With  neither  high  nor  low! 
The  Sons  of  Zeruiah!  .  .  .  Ho,  warder! 
Pull  up  the  drawstring!  Let  the  portcrayon 
fall!  Melt  down  the  largess,  fling  out  the 
pendulum  to  the  breeze,  and  howl  the  battle 
cry  of  Dines!" 

Hobby's  gaunt  features  relaxed  to  a  laugh. 

"You  silly  ass!  And  the  rope  on  your  very 
neck!  And  what  is  the  battle  cry  of  Dines,  if 
I  may  ask?" 

"Only  two  out!"  said  Johnny  Dines.     He 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

up  his  head;  his  hawk's  face  was  beauti 
ful 

-Good  boyP  said  Hobby  Lull  "Good 
boy!  You  never  shot  Adam  Forbes — not  in 
the  back.  You  hold  your  mouth  right  It 
isn't  so  bad,  Dines.  I  wanted  to  see  how  you'd 
it.  I  know  you  now.  There's  more  to 
You  live  a  long  way  from  here,  with 
and  Ac  river  between.  We've  never 
any  of  your  cattle.  But  we  looked  you 
op  in  the  br^f¥f  book.  Your  earmark  is  sharp 
the  right,  underslope  the  left.  That  yearling's 

the 


right." 

"Yes.  And  I  knew  that  without  looking 
at  the  band  book,"  said  Johnny.  "They've 
overplayed  their  hand  Any  more  ? 

"One  thing  more.  Nothing  to  put  before 
a  jury — but  it  fits  with  a  frame-up.  This 
Uncle  Pete  scouted  round  bevond 


they  quit  the  trail  at  dark.     He  found 
•here  Weir  and  Caney  and  Hales 
rich  placer  yesterday.     A  big  thing — 
gold.     It  was  natural  enough  that  they 
didn't  tdl  us.    For  that  matter,  they  men- 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          227 

tioned  prospecting  along  with  their  saddle- 
thieves'  hunt.  You  heard  'em  tell  Gwinnc 
about  the  saddle  thieves  last  night  But — 
Adam  Forbes  was  prospecting  too.  That's 
what  he  went  up  there  for.  Caney,  Weir  and 
Hales — any  one  of  them  has  just  the  face  of  a 
man  to  turn  lead  into  gold.  There's  a  motive 
for  you — a  possible  motive," 

"More  than  possible.  Let  me  think  P 
Johnny  nursed  his  knee.  He  saw  again  the 
cool  dark  windings  of  Redgate,  the  little 
branding  fire,  the  brushy  pass  low  above 
him — where  a  foe  might  lurk — himself  and 
Forbes,  clear  outlined  on  the  hillside,  the 
letter  Forbes  had  given  him. 

"H'mPhesaid.  "H'ni!  EiactlyP  With 
a  thoughtful  face,  he  chanted  a  merry  little 
stave: 


7TL^  ^^^^^ff^B+J  v^vF^v  JM^*^  f^^v 

JM*K 

7:: 

O»  /^  fcr*  •/  fcr  icd^ 
Aflf  pstitmd,  prmymf  f*r  * 


"Siy.  Mr.  Lull,  is"':  ::  i  queer  Iiv  ::  hive 


228          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

the  county  seat  inland,  not  on  the  railroad  at 
all,  like  Hillsboro?" 

"That's  easy.  Hillsboro  was  the  county  seat 
before  there  was  any  railroad." 

"Oh — that  way?  And  how  do  you  get  your 
mail  at  Garfield?  Does  that  come  from 
Hillsboro?" 

"No.  Hillsboro  is  the  closest  post  office, 
but  our  mail  goes  to  Rincon.  There's  the 
river,  you  see,  and  no  bridge.  A  letter  takes 
two  days  and  a  hundred  miles  to  get  from 
Garfield  to  Hillsboro — and  it's  only  twenty- 
five  miles  straight  across  in  low  water." 

"I  see,"  said  Johnny. 

Again  he  visioned  the  scene  on  the  hillside, 
the  fire,  Adam  Forbes,  the  location  papers  he 
was  to  mail;  he  remembered  Toad  Hales  and 
his  attempted  betrayal  of  the  horse-camp 
guest;  he  remembered  Jody  Weir's  letter  to 
Hillsboro,  and  how  it  was  to  be  delivered. 
Jody  Weir — and  the  girl  in  Hillsboro  post 
office — steady,  Johnny — steady,  boy!  Even 
so,  Jody  Weir  could  keep  those  location  papers 
from  reaching  the  recorder! 

The  whole  black  business  became  clear  and 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          229 

sure  to  him.  And  in  that  same  flaming  mo 
ment  he  knew  that  he  could  not  clear  himself 
by  shaming  this  light  lady — that  he  had  never 
seen  or  known.  To  shield  her  fault  or  folly, 
he  must  take  his  chance.  He  looked  up  and 
spread  out  his  hands. 

"No  go,  Mr.  Lull!"  he  said  cheerfully. 
"Much  obliged  to  you — and  here  is  gear 
enough  for  a  cuckoo  clock,  but  I  can't  make 
it  tick.  Surmise  and  suspicion.  Not  one  fact 
to  lay  hands  on.  Something  may  come  out  in 
the  trial,  of  course.  Looks  like  both  ends 
against  the  middle,  don't  it?  When  dry 
weather  keeps  you  poor  and  a  rain  hangs  you? 
Tough  luck!  Alas,  poor  Johnny!  I  knew 
him  well!" 

So  far  his  iron  fortunes  had  brought  him — 
to  the  shadow  of  the  gallows.  There,  beset 
with  death  and  shame,  with  neck  and  name  on 
the  venture,  he  held  his  head  high,  and  kept 
his  honor  spotless.  Well  done,  Johnny  Dines ! 
Well  played,  our  side! 

There  is  somewhat  which  must  be  said  here. 
Doubtless  it  is  bad  Art — whatever  that  means 


230          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

— but  it  is  a  thing  to  be  done.  It  is  charged 
to  me  that  I  suppress  certain  sorry  and  un 
savory  truths  when  I  put  remembered  faces  to 
paper — that  I  pick  the  best  at  their  best,  and 
shield  with  silence  their  hours  of  shame  and 
weakness — these  men  I  loved.  Well — it  is 
true.  I  take  my  own  risk  by  that;  but  for 
them,  it  is  what  they  have  deserved.  It  is 
what  Johnny  Dines  did  for  Kitty  Seiber. 

"Well,  that's  about  all,"  said  Hobby. 
"Uncle  Pete  is  still  skirmishing  round. 
Adam  had  a  tame  tank  somewhere  close  by, 
and  Pete  thinks  he  may  find  some  more  light 
on  the  case,  there  or  somewheres  else.  If  you 
don't  think  of  anything  more  I  guess  I'll  go 
down  to  the  Cans  Hotel  and  sleep  a  day  or 
two.  Nobody  knows  where  See  is.  He  may 
be  asleep — and  then  again  he  may  be  up  to 
some  devilment." 

"From  what  I  could  hear  a  while  ago," 
said  Johnny,  grinning  hugely,  "I  thought  you 
were  a  prisoner." 

"I  am,"  said  Hobby. 

He  went  to  a  window  at  the  end  of  the 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          231 

big  hall  and  looked  out.  Hillsboro  is  gen^ 
erously  planned,  and  spreads  luxuriously  over 
more  hills  than  Rome.  This  is  for  two 
reasons :  First,  there  was  plenty  of  room,  no 
need  to  crowd;  second,  and  with  more  of  the 
causative  element,  those  hills  were  rich  in 
mineral,  and  were  dotted  thick  with  shaft  and 
tunnel  between  the  scattered  homes. 

Several  shafts  were  near  the  jail.  On  the 
nearest  one  Mr.  Preisser  diligently  examined 
the  ore  dump.  Hobby  whistled.  Mr.  Preis 
ser  looked  up.  Hobby  waved  his  hat.  Preis 
ser  waved  back  and  started  toward  the  jail. 
Hobby  returned  to  his  cell  and  locked  him 
self  in.  Mr.  Preisser  thundered  at  the  jail 
door. 

"Well?"  said  Gwinne,  answering  the 
summons. 

"I  have  been  thinking  about  the  criminal, 
Lull,"  said  Mr.  Preisser,  beaming.  "Con 
sidering  his  tender  years  and  that  he  is  nod 
fully  gompetent  and  responsible  mentally — I 
have  decided  nod  to  bress  the  charge  against 
him.  You  may  let  him  go,  now." 

"Oh,  very  well,"  said  Gwinne. 


232          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

He  went  to  the  cell — without  remark  con 
cerning  the  key  in  the  lock — and  set  the 
prisoner  free.  His  face  kept  a  heavy  serious 
ness;  there  was  no  twinkle  in  his  eye.  As 
sailant  and  victim  went  arm  in  arm  down  the 
hill. 

Mr.  Charlie  See  came  softly  to  Hillsboro 
jail  through  the  velvet  night.  He  did  not 
come  the  front  way;  he  came  over  the  hill 
after  a  wearisome  detour.  He  approached 
the  building  on  the  blind  side,  cautiously  as 
any  cat,  and  crouched  to  listen  in  the  shadow 
of  the  wall.  After  a  little  he  began  a  slow 
voyage  of  discovery.  At  the  rear  of  the  build 
ing  a  broad  shaft  of  light  swept  out  across 
the  hill.  This  was  the  kitchen.  See  heard 
Gwinne's  heavy  tread,  and  the  cheerful  splut- 
terings  of  beefsteak.  Then  he  heard  a  dog 
within ;  a  dog  that  scratched  at  the  door  with 
mutter  and  whine. 

"Down,  Diogenes!"  growled  Gwinne;  and 
raised  his  voice  in  a  roaring  chorus: 

"And  he  sunk  her  in  the  lonesome  lowland  low* — 
And  he  sunk  her  in  the  lowland  sea!" 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          233 

Charlie  retraced  his  steps  to  the  corner 
and  the  friendly  shadows.  He  crept  down 
the  long  blank  side  of  the  jail,  pausing  from 
time  to  time  to  listen;  hearing  nothing.  He 
turned  the  corner  to  the  other  end.  A  dim 
light  showed  from  an  unwindowed  grating. 
The  investigator  stood  on  a  slope  and  the  win 
dow  place  was  high.  Reaching  up  at  full 
stretch,  he  seized  the  bars  with  both  hands, 
stepped  his  foot  on  an  uneven  stone  of  the 
foundation,  and  so  pulled  himself  up  to  peer 
in — and  found  himself  nose  to  nose  with 
Johnny  Dines. 

The  prisoner  regarded  his  visitor  without 
surprise. 

"Good  evening,"  he  observed  politely. 

"Good  eve—  Oh,  hell!  Say,  I  ought  to 
bite  your  nose  off — you  and  your  good  even 
ing!  Look  here,  fellow — are  you  loose  in 
there?" 

"Oh,  yes.     But  the  outer  door's  locked." 

"Well,  by  gracious,  you'd  better  be  get 
ting  to  thunder  out  of  this!  You  haven't  a 
chance.  You're  a  gone  goose.  You  ought 
to  hear  the  talk  I've  heard  round  town. 


234         STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

They're  going  to  hang  you  by  the  neck!" 
"Well,  why  not— if  I  did  that?"  inquired 
Johnny,  reasonably  enough.    They  spoke  in 
subdued  undertones. 

"But  I  know  damn  well  you  didn't  do  it." 
The  rescuer  spoke  with  some  irritation ;  he 
was   still   startled.    Johnny   shook  his  head 
thoughtfully. 

"The  evidence  was  pretty  strong — what  I 
heard  of  it,  anyhow." 

"I  guess,  by  heck,  I  know  a  frame-up  when 
I  see  it.  Say,  what  the  hell  are  you  talking 
about?  You  wild  ass  of  the  desert!  Think 
I  got  nothing  to  do  but  hang  on  here  by  my 
eyelashes  and  argue  with  you?  One  more 
break  like  that  and  down  goes  your  meat 
house — infernal  fool!  Listen!  There's  a 
mining  shaft  right  over  here — windlass  with  a 
ratchet  wheel  and  a  pawl.  I  can  hook  that 
windlass  rope  on  these  bars  and  yank  'em  out 
in  a  jiffy.  If  the  bars  are  too  stubborn  I'll 
strain  the  rope  tight  as  ever  I  can  and  then 
pour  water  on  it.  That'll  fetch  'em;  won't 
make  much  noise,  either,  I  judge.  Not  now — 
your  jailer  man  will  be  calling  you  to  supper 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          235 

in  a  minute.  Maybe  we'd  better  wait  till  he 
goes  to  sleep — or  will  he  lock  you  up?  Fel 
low,  what  you  want  to  do  is  go.  You  can 
make  Old  Mexico  to-morrow.  I'll  side  you 
if  you  say  so.  I've  got  nothing  to  keep  me 
here." 

"Now  ain't  that  too  bad — and  I  always 
wanted  to  go  to  Mexico,  too,"  said  Johnny 
wistfully.  "But  I  reckon  I  can't  make  it  this 
riffle.  You  see,  this  old  rooster  has  treated 
me  pretty  white — not  locked  me  up,  and 
everything.  I  wouldn't  like  to  take  advan 
tage  of  it.  Come  to  think  of  it,  I  told  him 
I  wouldn't." 

"Well,  say!"  Charlie  stopped,  at  loss  for 
words.  "I  get  your  idea — but  man,  they'll 
hang  you!" 

"I'm  sorry  for  that,  too,"  said  Johnny  re 
gretfully.  "But  you  see  how  it  is.  I  haven't 
any  choice.  Much  obliged,  just  the  same." 
Then  his  face  brightened.  "Wait!  Wait 
a  minute.  Let  me  think.  Look  now — if 
Gwinne  locks  me  up  in  a  cell,  bimeby — why, 
you  might  come  round  and  have  another  try, 
later  on.  That  will  be  different." 


236         STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

"I'll  go  you  once  on  that,"  returned  the 
rescuer  eagerly.  "Which  is  your  cell?" 

"Why,  under  the  circumstances  it  wouldn't 
be  just  right  to  tell  you — would  it,  now?"  said 
the  prisoner,  doubtfully.  "I  reckon  you'll 
have  to  project  round  and  find  that  out  for 
yourself." 

"Huh!"  snorted  Charlie  See. 

"Of  course  if  I  make  a  get-away  it  looks 
bad — like  admitting  the  murder.  On  the 
other  hand,  if  I'm  hanged,  my  friends  would 
always  hate  it.  So  there  we  are.  On  the 
whole,  I  judge  it  would  be  best  to  go.  Say, 
Gwinne'll  be  calling  me  to  chuck.  Reckon  I 
better  beat  him  to  it.  You  run  on,  now,  and 
roll  your  hoop.  I'll  be  thinking  it  over. 
G'night!" 

His  face  disappeared  from  the  embrasure. 
Charlie  See  retired  Indian-fashion  to  the 
nearest  cover,  straightened  up,  and  wandered 
discontentedly  down  the  hill  to  Hillsboro's 
great  white  way. 


XI 

"We  retired  to  a  strategic  position  prepared  in  advance." 
— Communiques  of  the  Crown  Prince. 

CHARLIE  SEE  was  little  known  in  the 
county  seat.  It  was  not  his  county,  to 
begin  with,  and  his  orbit  met  Hillsboro's 
only  at  the  intersection  of  their  planes.  Hills- 
boro  was  a  mining  town,  first,  last  and  at  all 
intervening  periods.  Hillsboro's  "seaport," 
Lake  Valley,  was  the  cowman's  town ;  skyward 
terminus  of  the  High  Line,  twig  from  a 
branch  railroad  which  was  itself  a  feeder  for 
an  inconsiderable  spur.  The  great  tides  of 
traffic  surged  far  to  north  and  south.  This 
was  a  remote  and  sheltered  backwater,  and 
Hillsboro  lay  yet  twelve  miles  inland  from 
Lake  Valley.  Here,  if  anywhere,  you  found 
peace  and  quiet;  Hillsboro  was  as  far  from 
the  tumult  and  hurly-burly  as  a  corner  of 
Fifth  Avenue  and  Forty-second  Street. 

Along  the  winding  way,  where  lights  of 
business  glowed  warm  and  mellow,  feverish 
knots  and  clusters  of  men  made  a  low-voiced 

237 


238          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

buzzing;  a  buzzing  which  at  See's  approach 
either  ceased  or  grew  suddenly  clear  to  dis 
cussion  of  crossroads  trivialities.  From  one1 
of  these  confidential  knots,  before  the  Cans 
Hotel,  a  unit  detached  itself  and  strolled  down 
the  street. 

"Howdy,  Mr.  See,"  said  the  unit  as  Charlie 
overtook  it.  "Which  way  now?" 

"Oh,  just  going  round  to  the  hardware  store 
to  get  a  collar  button." 

"You  don't  know  me,"  said  the  sauntering 
unit.  "My  name  is  Maginnis." 

"I  withdraw  the  collar  button,"  said 
Charlie.  He  slowed  his  step  and  shot  a 
glance  at  the  grizzled  face  beside  him,, 
Who's  Who  in  Cowland  has  a  well-thumbed 
page  for  Spinal  Maginnis.  "What's  your 
will?" 

"You  arrested  young  Dines?" 

"In  a  way,  yes.     I  was  with  the  bunch." 

"It  is  told  of  you  by  camp  fires,"  said 
Maginnis,  "that  you'll  do  to  take  along.  Will 
you  come?" 

'"With  you,  yes.     Spill  it." 

"For  me.     To  do  what  I  can't  do  for  my- 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          239 

self.  You  arrested  Johnny  Dines,  or  helped ; 
so  you  can  go  where  I'm  not  wanted.  Notice 
anything  back  yonder?"  He  jerked  his  head 
toward  the  main  street. 

"Well,  I'm  not  walking  in  my  sleep  this 
bright  beautiful  evening.  ^Whispering  fools, 
you  mean?" 

"Exactly.  Some  knaves,  too.  But  fools 
are  worse  always,  and  more  dangerous.  This 
town  is  all  fussed  up  and  hectic  about  the 
Forbes  killing.  Ugly  rumors — Dines  did 
this,  Dines  did  that,  Dines  is  a  red  hellion.  I 
don't  like  the  way  things  shape  up.  There's  a 
lot  of  offscourings  and  riffraff  here — and 
someone  is  putting  up  free  whisky.  It's 
known  that  I  was  a  friend  of  this  boy's  father, 
and  it  is  suspected  that  I  may  be  interested  in 
his  father's  son.  But  you — can't  you  find  out 
— Oh,  hell,  you  know  what  I  want!" 

"Sure  I  do.  You're  afraid  of  a  mob,  with 
a  scoundrel  back  of  it.  Excuse  me  for  wasting 
words.  You're  afraid  of  a  mob.  I'm  your 
man.  Free  whisky  is  where  I  live.  Me  for 
the  gilded  haunts  of  sin.  Any  particular 
haunt  you  have  in  mind?" 


24o         STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

"Sure  I  have.  No  need  to  go  to  The  Bank. 
Joe  is  a  pretty  decent  old  scout.  You  skip 
Joe's  place  and  drop  in  at  The  Mermaid. 
Where  they  love  money  most  is  where  trouble 


starts." 


"Where  will  I  report  to  you?" 

"You  know  Perrault's  house?" 

"With  trees  all  round,  and  a  little  vineyard? 
Just  below  the  jail?  Yes." 

"You'll  find  me  there,  and  a  couple  more 
old  residenters.  Hop  along,  now." 

The  Mermaid  saloon  squatted  in  a  low,  dark 
corner  of  Hillsboro — even  if  the  words  were 
used  in  the  most  literal  sense. 

Waywardly  careless,  Hillsboro  checkered 
with  alternate  homes  and  mines  the  undula 
tions  of  a  dozen  low  hills;  an  amphitheater 
girdled  by  high  mountain  walls,  with  a  cen 
tral  arena  for  commercial  gladiators.  Stamp 
mills  hung  along  the  scarred  hillsides,  stamp 
mills  exhibiting  every  known  variety  of  size 
and  battery.  In  quite  the  Athenian  manner, 
courthouse,  church  and  school  crowned  each 
a  hill  of  its  own,  and  doubtless  proved  what 
has  been  so  often  and  so  well  said  of  our  civi- 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT         241 

lization.  At  any  rate  the  courthouse  cost 
more  than  the  school — about  as  much  more  as 
it  was  used  less;  and  the  church  steeple  was 
such  as  to  attract  comment  from  any  god. 
The  school  was  less  imposing. 

This  was  a  high,  rainy  country.  The  fron 
tier  of  the  pines  lay  just  behind  and  just  above 
the  town,  on  the  first  upward  slopes.  The 
desert  levels  were  far  below.  Shade  trees, 
then,  can  grow  in  Hillsboro ;  do  grow  there  by 
Nature  and  by  artifice,  making  a  joyous  riot 
of  visible  song — in  the  residential  section. 
Industrial  Hillsboro,  however,  held — or  was 
held? — to  the  flintier  hills,  bleak  and  bare  and 
brown,  where  the  big  smelter  overhung  and 
dominated  the  north.  The  steep  narrow  val 
ley  of  the  Percha  divided  Hillsboro  rather 
equally  between  the  good  and  the  goats. 

There  was  also  the  inevitable  Mexican  quar 
ter — here,  as  ever,  Chihuahua.  But  if  Hills 
boro  could  claim  no  originality  of  naming, 
she  could  boast  of  something  unique  in  map 
making.  The  Mexican  suburb  ran  directly 
through  the  heart  of  the  town.  Then  the 
Mexican  town  was  the  old  town?  A  good 


242          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

guess,  but  not  the  right  one.  The  effective 
cause  was  that  the  lordly  white  man  scorned 
to  garden — cowmen  and  miners  holding  an 
equally  foolish  tradition  on  this  head;  while 
the  humble  paisano  has  gardened  since  Scipio 
and  Hasdrubal ;  would  garden  in  hell.  So  the 
narrow  bottom  lands  of  the  creek  were  given 
over  to  truck  patches  and  brown  gardeners; 
tiny  empires  between  loop  and  loop  of  twist 
ing  water;  black  loam,  pay  dirt.  It  is  curious 
to  consider  that  this  pay  dirt  will  be  fruitful 
still,  these  homes  will  still  be  homes,  a  thou 
sand  years  after  the  last  yellow  dross  has  been 
sifted  from  the  hills. 

So  much  for  the  town  proper.  A  small  out 
lying  fringe  lay  below  the  broad  white  wagon 
road  twisting  away  between  the  hills  in  long 
curves  or  terraced  zigzags  to  the  railhead. 
Here  a  flat  black  level  of  glassy  obsidian 
shouldered  across  the  valley  and  forced  the 
little  river  to  an  unexpected  whirling  plunge 
where  the  dark  box  of  the  Percha  led  wander 
ing  through  the  eastern  barrier  of  hills;  and 
on  that  black  cheerless  level  huddled  the  wide, 
low  length  of  The  Mermaid,  paintless,  for- 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          243 

bidding,  shunning  and  shunned.  Most  odd 
to  contemplate;  this  glassy  barren,  nonpro- 
ducing,  uncultivated  and  unmined,  waste  and 
sterile,  was  yet  a  better  money-maker  than  the 
best  placer  or  the  richest  loam  land  of  all 
Hillsboro.  Tellurian  papers  please  copy. 

The  Mermaid  boasted  no  Jonson,  and  dif 
fered  in  other  respects  from  The  Mermaid  of 
Broad  Street.  Nor  might  it  be  reproached 
with  any  insidious  allure,  though  one  of  the 
seven  deadly  arts  had  been  invoked.  Facing 
the  bar,  a  startled  sea  maid  turned  her  head, 
ever  about  to  plunge  to  the  safety  of  green 
seas.  The  result  was  not  convincing;  she  did 
not  look  startled  enough  to  dive.  But  perhaps 
the  artist  had  a  model.  Legend  says  the  can 
vas  was  painted  to  liquidate  a  liquor  bill, 
which  would  explain  much;  it  is  hard  paying 
for  a  dead  horse.  It  had  once  been  signed, 
but  some  kindly  hand  had  scraped  the  name 
away.  In  moments  of  irritation  Hillsboro 
spoke  of  The  Mermaid  as  "The  Dive." 

"Johnny  Dines — yah!  Thought  he  could 
pull  that  stuff  and  get  away  with  it,"  said  Jody 
Weir  loudly.  "Fine  bluff,  but  it  got  called. 


244          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

Bankin'  on  the  cowmen  to  stick  with  him 
and  get  him  out  of  it." 

The  Mermaid  bar  was  crowded.  It  was  a 
dingy  place  and  a  dingy  crew.  The  bar 
keeper  had  need  for  all  his  craft  and  swift 
ness  to  give  service.  The  barkeeper  was  also 
the  owner — a  tall  man  with  a  white  bloodless 
face,  whiter  for  black  brows  like  scars.  The 
gambling  hall  behind  was  lit  up  but  deserted. 
The  crowd  was  in  too  ugly  a  mood  for  gam 
bling.  They  had  been  drinking  bad  liquor, 
much  too  much  for  most  of  them;  headed 
by  Weir,  Caney  and  Hales,  seconded  by  any 
chance  buyer,  and  followed  up  by  the  Mer 
man,  who  served  a  round  on  the  house  with 
unwonted  frequency. 

Jody  pounded  on  the  bar. 

"Yes,  that's  his  little  scheme — intimidation. 
He's  countin'  on  the  cowboys  to  scare  Hills- 
boro  out — him  playin'  plumb  innocent  of 
course — knowin'  nothin',  victim  of  circum 
stances.  Sure!  Turn  this  poor  persecuted 
boy  loose!'  they'll  say.  'You  got  nothin'  on 
him.'  Oh,  them  bold  bad  men!" 

"That  don't  sound  reasonable,  Jody,"  ob- 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT         245 

jected  Shaky  Akins.  "Forbes  was  a  cowman. 
You're  a  cowman  yourself." 

"Yes — but  I  saw.  These  fellers'll  hear,  and 
then  they'll  shoot  off  their  mouths  on  general 
principles,  not  knowing  straight  up  about  it; 
then  they'll  stick  to  \Vhat  they  first  said,  out 
of  plumb  pig-headedness.  One  thing  I'm 
glad  of:  I  sure  hope  Cole  Ralston  likes  the 
way  his  new  man  turned  out." 

"Dines  and  Charlie  See  favor  each  other  a 
heap.  Not  in  looks  so  much,"  said  Shaky, 
"but  in  their  ways.  I  used  to  know  Charlie 
See  right  well,  over  on  the  Pecos.  He  was 
shortstop  on  the  Roswell  nine.  He  couldn't 
hit,  and  he  couldn't  field,  and  he  couldn't  run 
bases — but  oh,  people,  how  that  man  could 
playballP 

"Nonsense.  They're  not  a  bit  alike.  You 
think  so,  just  because  they're  both  little." 

"I  don't  either.  I  think  so  because  they're 
both— oh  my  1" 

"I  don't  like  this  man  See,  either,"  said 
Caney.  "I  don't  like  a  hair  of  his  head.  Too 
damn  smart.  Somebody's  going  to  break  him 
in  two  before  he's  much  older." 


246          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

"Now  listen!"  said  Shaky  Akins,  without 
heat.  "When  you  go  to  break  Charlie  See 
you'll  find  he  is  a  right  flexible  citizen — any 
man,  any  time,  anywhere." 

"Well,"  said  Hales,  "all  this  talking  is  dry 
work.  Come  up,  boys.  This  one  is  on  me." 

"What  will  it  be,  gentlemen?"  inquired  the 
suave  Merman.  "One  Scotch.  Yes.  Three 
straights.  A  highball.  Three  rums.  One 
gin  sling.  Make  it  two?  Right.  Next? 
Whisky  straight.  And  the  same.  What's 
yours,  Mr.  Akins?" 

"Another  blond  bland  blend,"  said  Shaky. 
"But  you  haven't  answered  my  question,  Jody. 
Why  should  cowmen  see  this  killing  any  dif 
ferent  from  anyone  else?  Just  clannishness, 
you  think?" 

"Because  cowmen  can  read  sign,"  said 
Charlie  See.  He  stood  framed  in  the  front 
door:  he  stepped  inside. 

The  startled  room  turned  to  the  door. 
There  were  nudges  and  whispers.  Talking 
ceased.  There  had  been  a  dozen  noisy  con 
versations  besides  the  one  recorded. 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          247 

"Reading  tracks  is  harder  to  learn  than 
Greek,  and  more  interesting,"  said  Charlie. 
"Cattlemen  have  always  had  to  read  sign, 
and  they've  always  had  to  read  it  right — ever 
since  they  was  six  years  old.  What  you  be 
gin  learning  at  six  years  old  is  the  only  thing 
you  ever  learn  good.  So  cowmen  don't  just 
look  and  talk.  They  see  and  think." 

He  moved  easily  across  the  room  in  a  vast 
silence.  Caney's  eyes  met  those  of  the  Mer 
man  barkeeper.  The  Merman's  bloodless 
and  sinister  face  made  no  change,  but  he  made 
a  change  in  the  order. 

"Step  up,  Mr.  See,"  said  the  Merman. 
"This  one's  on  me.  What  will  it  be?" 

"Beer,"  said  Charlie.  He  nodded  to  the 
crowd.  "Howdy,  boys!  Hello,  Shaky — 
that  you?" 

He  lined  up  beside  Shaky;  he  noted  sly 
sidelong  glances  and  furtive  faces  reflected  in 
the  blistered  mirror  behind  the  bar. 

"Sure  is.  Play  you  a  game  of  pool — 
what?" 

"All  set?"  demanded  Caney  from  the  other 


248          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

end  of  the  bar.  "Drink  her  down,  fellers  I 
Here's  to  the  gallows  tree!" 

"Looks  like  a  good  season  for  fruit,"  said 
Charlie.  A  miner  laughed. 

Shaky  drained  his  glass.  "Come  on,  pool 
shark."  He  hooked  his  arm  in  Charlie's  and 
they  went  back  to  the  big  hall.  Part  of  the 
crowd  drifted  after  them. 

There  was  only  one  pool  table,  just  beyond 
the  door.  Down  one  side  were  ranged  tables 
for  monte,  faro,  senate  and  stud.  On  the  other 
side  the  bar  extended  beyond  the  partition  and 
took  up  twenty  feet  of  the  hall,  opposite  the 
pool  table.  On  the  end  of  the  bar  were  ranged 
generous  platters  of  free  lunch — shrimps, 
pretzels,  strips  of  toasted  bread,  sausages,  mus 
tard,  pickles,  olives,  crackers  and  cheese. 
Behind  it  was  a  large  quick-lunch  oil  stove, 
darkened  now.  Beyond  that  was  a  vast  oak 
refrigerator  with  a  high  ornamental  top  reach 
ing  almost  to  the  ceiling.  Next  in  order  was 
a  crap  table  and  another  for  seven-and-a-half. 
A  big  heater,  unused  now,  shared  the  central 
space  with  the  pool  table.  Between  these  last 
two  was  a  small  table  littered  with  papers  and 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          249 

magazines.    Two   or   three   men   sat   there 
reading. 

"Pretty  quiet  to-night?"  said  Charlie, 
nodding  his  chin  at  the  sheeted  games. 

"Yes.  Halfway  between  pay  days.  Don't 
pay  to  start  up,"  said  Shaky  carelessly.  "At 
that,  it  is  quieter  than  usual  to-night." 

They  played  golf  pool. 

"It  is  not  true  that  everyone  who  plays  golf 
pool  goes  goopy,"  remarked  Charlie  at  the  end 
of  the  first  game.  "All  crazy  men  play  golf 
pool,  of  course.  But  that  is  not  quite  the  same 
thing,  I  hope.  Beware  of  hasty  deductions — 
as  the  bank  examiner  told  the  cashier.  Let's 
play  rotation." 

Jody  Weir  stuck  his  head  through  the 
doorway.  "Hey,  you!  I'm  buying.  Come 
have  a  drink!" 

Most  of  the  loungers  rose  and  went  forward 
to  the  bar.  The  men  at  the  reading  table  did 
not  move;  possibly  they  did  not  hear.  One 
was  an  Australian,  a  simple-faced  giant, 
fathoms  deep  in  a  Sydney  paper;  his  lips 
moved  as  he  read,  his  eye  glistened. 

"Let's   go   up   to   the   hotel,"   said   Akins. 


250          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

"This  table  is  no  good.  They  got  a  jim  dandy 
up  there.  New  one." 

"Oh,  this  is  all  right,"  said  Charlie.  "I'll 
break.  Say,  Shaky,  youVe  seen  my  new 
ranch.  iWhat'll  you  give  me  for  it,  lock,  stock 
and  barrel,  lease,  cattle  and  cat,  just  as  she  lays, 
everything  except  the  saddle  stock?  I'm 
thinking  some  about  drifting." 

"That's  a  good  idea — a  fine  idea,"  said 
Shaky.  He  caught  Charlie's  eye,  and  pointed 
his  brows  significantly  toward  the  barroom. 
"Where  to?" 

"Away.  Old  Mex,  I  guess.  Gimme  a 
bid." 

Shaky  considered  while  he  chalked  his  cue. 
Then  he  shook  his  head. 

"No.  Nice  place — but  I  wouldn't  ever  be 
satisfied  there.  .  .  .  Mescaleros  held  up  a 
wagon  train  there  in  1879 — where  your  pas 
ture  is  now,  halfway  between  your  well  and 
Mason's  Ranch.  Killed  thirteen  men  and  one 
woman.  I  was  a  kid  then,  living  at  Fort 
Selden.  A  damn  fool  took  me  out  with  the 
burial  party,  and  I  saw  all  those  mutilated 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          251 

bodies.  I  never  got  over  it.  That's  why  I'm 
Shaky  Akins." 

"Why,  I  thought — "  began  See  uncomfort 
ably. 

"No.  'Twasn't  chills.  I'm  giving  it  to 
you  straight.  I  hesitated  about  telling  you. 
I've  never  told  anyone — but  there's  a  reason 
for  telling  you — now — to-night.  I  lost  my 
nerve.  I'm  not  a  man.  See,  I've  dreamed 
of  those  people  ten  thousand  times.  It's  hell  1" 

Weir's  head  appeared  at  the  door  again; 
his  face  was  red  and  hot. 

"You,  See!  Ain't  you  comin'  out  to 
drink?" 

"Why,  no.     We're  playing  pool." 

"Well,  I  must  say,  you're  not  a  bit- — " 

"I  know  I'm  not  a  bit,"  said  See  placidly. 
"That's  no  news.  I've  been  told  before  that 
I'm  not  a  bit.  You  run  on,  now.  .We're  play 
ing  pool." 

The  face  withdrew.  There  was  a  hush  in 
the  boisterous  mirth  without.  Then  it  rose  in 
redoubled  volume. 

"Come  up  to  the  hotel  with  me,"  urged 


252         STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

Shaky,  moistening  his  lips.  "I  got  a  date  with 
a  man  there  at  ten.  We  can  play  pool  there 
while  I'm  waiting." 

"Oh,  I'll  stay  here,  I  guess.  I  want  to  read 
the  papers." 

"You  headstrong  little  fool,"  whispered 
Akins.  "Their  hearts  is  bad — can't  you  see? 
Come  along  1"  Aloud  he  said:  "If  you  get 
that  ball  it  makes  you  pool." 

The  door  from  the  barroom  opened  and  two 
men  appeared.  One,  a  heavy  man  with  a 
bullet  head  much  too  small  for  him,  went 
to  the  free  lundi;  the  other,  a  dwarfish 
creature  with  a  twisted  sullen  face,  walked 
to  the  Australian  and  shook  him  by  the 
shoulder. 

"Come  on,  Sanders.  Say  good  night  to  the 
library.  You're  a  married  man  and  you  don't 
want  to  be  in  this."  His  voice  had  been  con 
temptuously  kind  so  far;  but  now  he  snarled 
hatred.  "Hell  will  be  popping  here  pretty 
quick,  and  some  smart  Aleck  is  going  to  get 
what's  coming  to  him.  Oh,  bring  your 
precious  'pyper,'  if  you  want  to.  Sim  won't 
mind.  Come  along — Larrikenl" 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          253 

The  big  man  followed  obediently. 

"Part  of  that  is  good,"  observed  Shaky 
Akins.  "The  part  where  he  said  good  night. 
I'm  saying  it." 

He  made  for  the  back  door.  The  other 
man  at  the  reading  table  rose  and  followed 
him. 

"Good  night,  Shaky.  Drop  me  a  post  hole, 
sometime,"  said  Charlie. 

The  bullet-head  man,  now  eating  toast  and 
shrimps,  regarded  See  with  a  malicious  sneer. 
See  rummaged  through  the  papers,  selected  a 
copy  of  The  Black  Range,  and  seated  himself 
sidewise  on  the  end  of  the  billiard  table;  then 
laying  the  paper  down  he  reached  for  the  tri 
angle  and  pyramided  the  pool  balls. 

The  swinging  door  crashed  inward  before 
a  vicious  kick.  Caney  stalked  in.  His  pitted 
face  was  black  with  rage.  Weir  followed. 
As  the  door  swung  to  there  was  a  glimpse  of 
savage  eager  faces  crowded  beyond. 

Caney  glared  across  the  billiard  table. 

"We're  not  good  enough  for  you  to  drink 
with,  I  reckon,"  he  croaked. 

Charlie  laid  aside  the  triangle.     The  free 


254          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

lunch  man  laughed  spitefully.  "Aren't  you?" 
said  Charlie,  indifferently. 

Caney  raised  his  voice.  "And  I  hear  you 
been  saying  I  was  a  gallows  bird?" 

Charlie  See  adjusted  a  ball  at  the  corner  of 
the  pyramid.  Then  he  gave  to  Caney  a  slow 
and  speculative  glance. 

"Now  that  I  take  a  good  look  at  you — it 
seems  probable,  don't  it?" 

"Damn  you!"  roared  Caney.  "What  do 
you  mean?" 

"Business!" 

No  man's  eye  could  have  said  which  hand 
moved  first.  But  See  was  the  quicker.  As 
Caney's  gun  flashed,  a  pool  ball  struck  him 
over  the  heart,  he  dropped  like  a  log,  his  bul 
let  went  wide.  A  green  ball  glanced  from 
Jody's  gun  arm  as  it  rose;  the  cartridge  ex 
ploded  harmlessly  as  the  gun  dropped ;  Weir 
staggered  back,  howling.  He  struck  the 
swinging  door  simultaneously  with  the  free- 
lunch  man ;  and  in  that  same  second  a  batter 
ing-ram  mob  crashed  against  it  from  the  other 
side.  Weir  was  knocked  sprawling;  the  door 
sagged  from  a  broken  hinge.  See  crouched 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

behind  the  heavy  table  and  pitched.  Two 
things  happened.  Bullets  plowed  the  green 
cloth  of  the  table  and  ricocheted  from  the 
smooth  slate;  bushels  of  billiard  balls  streamed 
through*  the  open  door  and  thudded  on 
quivering  flesh.  Flesh  did  not  like  that.  It 
squeaked  and  turned  and  fled,  tramping  the 
fallen,  screaming.  Billiard  balls  crashed 
sickeningly  on  defenseless  backs.  In  cold 
fact,  Charlie  See  threw  six  balls;  at  that 
close  range  flesh  could  have  sworn  to  sixty. 
Charlie  felt  rather  than  saw  a  bloodless  face 
rise  behind  the  bar;  he  ducked  to  the  shelter 
of  the  billiard  table  as  a  bullet  grooved  the 
rail;  his  own  gun  roared,  a  heavy  mirror 
splintered  behind  the  bar:  the  Merman  had 
also  ducked.  Charlie  threw  two  shots  through 
the  partition.  At  the  front,  woodwork 
groaned  and  shattered  as  a  six-foot  mob  passed 
through  a  four-foot  door.  Charlie  had  a 
glimpse  of  the  crouching  Merman,  the  last 
man  through.  For  encouragement  another 
shot,  purposely  high,  crashed  through  the  tran 
som;  the  Merman  escaped  in  a  shower  of  glass. 
"How's  that,  umpire?"  said  Charlie  See. 


256          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

The  business  had  been  transacted  in  ten 
seconds.  If  one  man  can  cover  a  hundred 
yards  in  ten  seconds  how  many  yards  can  forty 
men  make  in  the  same  time? 

"Curious  1"  said  Charlie.  "Some  of  that 
bunch  might  have  stood  up  to  a  gun  well 
enough.  But  they  can't  see  bullets.  And 
once  they  turned  tail — good  night !" 

He  slipped  along  the  rail  to  the  other  end 
of  the  table,  his  gun  poised  and  ready.  Caney 
sprawled  on  the  floor  in  a  huddle.  His  mouth 
was  open,  gasping,  his  eyes  rolled  back  so  that 
only  the  whites  were  visible,  his  livid  face 
twitched  horribly.  See  swooped  down  on 
Caney's  gun  and  made  swift  inspection  of  the 
cylinder;  he  did  the  like  by  Weir's,  and  then 
tiptoed  to-  the  partition  door,  first  thrusting 
his  own  gun  into  his  waistband.  The  barroom 
was  empty;  only  the  diving  Mermaid  smiled 
invitation  to  him.  See  turned  and  raced  for 
the  back  door.  Even  as  he  turned  a  gust  of 
wind  puffed  through  the  open  front  door  and 
the  wrecked  middle  door;  the  lamps  flared, 
the  back  door  slammed  with  a  crash. 

With  the  sound  of  that  slamming  door,  a 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          257 

swift  new  thought  came  to  See.  He  checked, 
halted,  turned  back.  He  took  one  look  at  the 
unconscious  Caney.  Then  he  swept  a  gener 
ous  portion  of  free  lunch  into  his  hat  and 
tossed  it  over  the  crowning  woodwork  of  the 
ten-foot  refrigerator,  with  the  level  motion  of 
a  mason  tossing  bricks  to  his  mate.  Caney's 
revolver  followed,  then  Weir's  and  his  own. 
He  darted  behind  the  bar  and  confiscated  a 
half-filled  bottle  of  wine,  the  appetizing  name 
of  which  had  won  his  approving  notice  earlier 
in  the  evening.  He  stepped  on  a  chair  beside 
the  refrigerator,  leaped  up,  caught  the  oaken 
edge  of  it,  swung  up  with  a  supple  twist  of 
his  strong  young  body,  and  dropped  to  the 
top  of  the  refrigerator,  safe  hidden  by  the  two- 
foot  parapet  of  ornamental  woodwork. 

A  little  later  two  men  sprang  together 
through  the  front  door;  a  sloe-eyed  Mexican 
and  the  dwarfish  friend  of  the  Australian 
giant.  They  leaped  aside  to  left  and  right, 
guns  ready;  they  looked  into  the  gambling 
hall ;  they  flanked  the  bar,  one  at  each  end,  and 
searched  behind  it. 

Then  the  little  man  went  to  the  door  and 


258          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

called  out  scornfully:  "Come  in,  you  damn 
cowards!  He's  gone!" 

Shadowy  forms  grew  out  of  the  starlight, 
with  whistlings,  answered  from  afar;  more 
shadows  came. 

"Is  Caney  dead?"  inquired  a  voice. 

"Hell,  I  don't  know  and  I  don't  care!'' 
answered  the  little  man  truculently.  "I  had 
no  time  to  look  at  Caney,  not  knowing  when 
that  devil  would  hop  me.  See  for  yourself." 

The  crowd  struggled  in — but  not  all  of 
them.  Weir  came  in  groaning,  his  face 
distorted  with  pain  as  he  fondled  his  crip 
pled  arm.  The  Merman  examined  Caney. 
"Dead,  nothing,"  he  reported.  "Knocked 
out.  He  won't  breathe  easy  again  for  a  week. 
Bring  some  whisky  and  a  pail  of  water.  Isn't 
this  fine?  I  don't  think!  Billiard  table 
ruined — plate-glass  mirror  shot  to  pieces — 
half  a  dozen  men  crippled,  and  that  damned 
little  hell  hound  got  off  scot-free!" 

"You  mention  your  men  last,  I  notice," 
sneered  the  little  man.  "Art  Price  has  got 
three  of  his  back  ribs  caved  in,  and  Lanning 
needs  a  full  set  of  teeth — to  say  nothing  of 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          259 

them  run  over  by  the  stampede.  Jiminy,  but 
you're  a  fine  bunch!" 

They  poured  water  on  Caney's  head,  and 
they  poured  whisky  down  Caney's  throat;  he 
gasped,  spluttered,  opened  his  eyes,  and  sat 
up,  assisted  by  Hales  and  the  Merman. 

"Here — four  of  you  chaps  carry  Caney  to 
the  doc,"  ordered  the  Merman.  "Take  that 
door — break  off  the  other  hinge.  Tell  doc  a 
windlass  got  away  from  him  and  the  handle 
struck  him  in  the  breast.  Tell  him  that  he 
stopped  the  ore  bucket  from  smashing  the  men 
at  the  bottom — sob  stuff.  Coach  Caney  up, 
before  you  go  in.  He's  not  so  bad — he's  com 
ing  to.  Fresh  air  will  do  him  good,  likely. 
Drag  it,  now." 

"Say,  Travis,  I  didn't  see  you  doin'  so 
much,"  muttered  one  of  the  gangsters  as  Caney 
was  carried  away,  deathly  sick.  He  eyed  the 
little  man  resentfully.  "Seems  to  me  like  you 
talk  pretty  big." 

The  little  man  turned  on  him  in  a  fury. 

"What  the  hell  could  I  do?  Swept  up  in 
a  bunch  of  blatting  bull  calves  like  that,  and 
me  the  size  I  am?  By  the  jumping  Jupiter, 


260          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

if  I  could  have  got  the  chance  I  would  'a' 
stayed  for  one  fall  if  he  had  been  the  devil 
himself,  pitchfork,  horns  and  tail!  As  it  was, 
I'm  blame  well  thankful  I  wasn't  stomped  to 
death." 

"All  this  proves  what  I  was  telling  you," 
said  Hales  suavely.  "If  you  chaps  intend  to 
stretch  Johnny  Dines,  to-night's  the  only  time. 
If  one  puncher  can  do  this  to  you" — he  sur 
veyed  the  wrecked  saloon  with  a  malicious 
grin — "what  do  you  expect  when  the  John 
Cross  warriors  get  here?  It's  now  or  never." 

"Never,  as  far  as  I'm  concerned,"  declared 
the  bullet-headed  man  of  the  free  lunch. 
"I'm  outclassed.  I've  had  e-nough!  I'm 
done  and  I'm  gone!" 

"Never  for  me  too.  And  I'm  done  with 
this  pack  of  curs — done  for  all  time,"  yelped 
the  little  man.  "I'm  beginning  to  get  a  faint 
idea  of  what  I  must  look  like  to  any  man 
that's  even  half  white.  Little  See  is  worth 
the  whole  boiling  of  us.  For  two  cents  I'd 
hunt  him  up  and  kiss  his  foot  and  be  his  Man 
Friday — if  he'd  have  me.  I  begin  to  think 
Dines  never  killed  Forbes  at  all.  Forbes  was 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT         261 

shot  in  the  back,  and  Shaky  Akins  says  Dines 
is  just  such  another  as  Charlie  See.  And 
Shaky  would  be  a  decent  man  himself  if  he 
didn't  have  to  pack  soapstones.  I'll  take  his 
word  for  Dines.  As  sure  as  I'm  a  foot  high, 
I've  a  good  mind  to  go  down  to  the  jail  and 
throw  in  with  Gwinne." 

"You  wouldn't  squeal,  Travis?"  pleaded 
the  Merman.  "You  was  in  this  as  deep  as 
the  rest  of  us,  and  you  passed  your  word." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  I  did,"  agreed  the  little 
man  reluctantly.  Then  he  burst  into  a  sud 
den  fury.  "Damn  my  word,  if  that  was  all! 
Old  Gwinne  wouldn't  have  me — he  wouldn't 
touch  me  with  a  ten-foot  pole.  I've  kept  my 
word  to  scum  like  you  till  no  decent  man  will 
believe  me  under  oath."  He  threw  up  his 
hands  with  a  tragic  gesture.  "Oh,  I've  played 
the  fool  I"  he  said.  "I  have  been  a  common 
fool!" 

He  turned  his  back  deliberately  to  that  en 
raged  crew  of  murderers  and  walked  the 
length  of  the  long  hall  to  the  back  door. 
From  his  hiding  place  above  the  big  refrig 
erator  Charlie  See  raised  his  head  to  peer  be- 


262          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

tween  the  interstices  and  curlicues  of  the 
woodwork  so  he  might  look  after  this  later 
prodigal.  Charlie  was  really  quite  touched, 
and  he  warmed  toward  the  prodigal  all  the 
more  because  that  evildoer  had  wasted  no  re 
gret  on  wickedness,  but  had  gone  straight  to 
the  root  of  the  matter  and  reserved  his  remorse 
for  the  more  serious  offense.  This  was 
Charlie's  own  view  in  the  matter  of  fools;  and 
he  was  tolerant  of  all  opinion  which  matched 
his  own.  But  Charlie  did  not  wear  a  sym 
pathetic  look;  he  munched  contentedly  on  a 
cheese  sandwich. 

"Never  mind  Travis,"  said  the  Merman. 
"Let  him  go.  The  little  fool  won't  peach,  and 
that's  the  main  thing.  I'm  going  after  Dines 
now,  if  we  did  make  a  bad  start.  There's 
plenty  of  us  here,  and  I  can  wake  up  two  of  my 
dealers  who  will  stand  hitched.  And  that 
ain't  all.  A  bunch  from  the  mines  will  drop 
down  for  a  snifter  at  eleven  o'clock,  when  the 
graveyard  shift  goes  on  and  they  come  off. 
I'll  pick  out  those  I  can  trust.  Some  of  'em 
are  tough  enough  to  suit  even  Travis — though 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT         263 

I  doubt  if  they'd  take  any  kinder  to  pool  balls 
than  you  boys  did — not  till  they  got  used  to 
'em.  I  don't  blame  you  fellows.  Billiard 
balls  are  something  new." 

"We  want  to  get  a  move  on,  before  the 
moon  gets  up,"  said  Weir. 

"Oh,  that's  all  right!  Lots  of  time.  We'll 
stretch  Mr.  Dines,  moonrise  or  not,"  said  the 
Merman  reassuringly.  "But  we'll  meet  the 
night  shift  at  the  bridge  as  they  come  off,  and 
save  a  lot  of  time.  Let's  see  now — Ames,  Vet 
Blackman,  Kroner,  Shaw,  Lithpin  Tham — " 

On  the  refrigerator,  Charlie  See  put  by  his 
lunch.  He  fished  out  a  tally  book  and  pencil 
and  began  taking  down  names. 

Charlie  See  raced  to  Perrault's  door  a  little 
before  eleven.  He  slipped  in  without  a  sum 
mons,  he  closed  the  door  behind  him  and 
leaned  his  back  against  it.  The  waiting 
men  rose  to  meet  him — Perrault,  Maginnis, 
Preisser,  and  a  fourth,  whom  Charlie  did  not 
know. 

"Come  on  to  the  jail,  Maginnis!    The  gang 


264          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

have  closed  up  the  Mermaid  and  they  are  now 
organizing  their  lynchin'  bee.  We've  just 
time  to  beat  'em  to  it!" 

"How  many?"  asked  Perrault,  reaching  up 
for  a  rifle. 

"You  don't  go,  Perrault.  This  is  no  place 
for  a  family  man." 

"But,  Spinal—" 

"Shut  up  1  No  married  man  in  this.  Nor 
you,  Preisser.  You're  too  old.  Mr.  See,  this 
is  Buck  Hamilton.  Shall  we  get  someone 
else ?  Shaky  Akins ?  Where's  Lull  ?" 

"Lull  is  asleep.  Let  him  be.  Worn  out. 
Akins  is — we've  no  time  for  Akins.  Here's 
a  plenty — us  three,  the  jailer  and  Dines. 
Jailer  all  right,  is  he?" 

"Any  turn  in  the  road.  Do  you  usually 
tote  three  guns,  young  feller?" 

"Two  of  these  are  momentums — no,  me 
mentos,"  said  Charlie.  I've  been  spoiling  the 
Egyptians.  Spoiled  some  six  or  eight,  I  guess 
— and  a  couple  more  soured  on  the  job. 
That'll  keep.  Tell  you  to-morrow.  Let's 

go!" 

"Vait!    Vait!"  said  Preisser.     "Go  by  my 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          265 

place — I'll  gome  vith  you  so  far — science  shall 
aid  your  brude  force.  Perrault  and  me,  you 
say,  ve  stay  here.  Ve  are  not  vit  to  sed  in  der 
vorevront  of  battles — vat?  Good!  Then  ve 
vill  send  to  represend  us  my  specimens.  I  haf 
two  lufly  specimens  of  abblied  psygology,  gal- 
gulated  to  haf  gontrolling  influence  vith  a  mob 
at  the — ah,  yes! — the  zoological  moment! 
You  vill  see,  you  vill  say  I  am  quide  righdt! 
Gome  on!" 

"And  they  aim  to  get  here  sudden  and 
soon?"  Mr.  George  Gwinne  smiled  on  his 
three  visitors  benevolently.  That's  good. 
We  won't  have  long  to  wait.  I  hate  wait 
ing.  Bad  for  the  nerves.  Well,  let's  get  a 
wiggle.  What  you  got  in  that  box,  Spinal? 
Dynamite?" 

Spinal  grinned  happily. 

"Ho!  Dynamite?  My,  you're  the  des- 
prit  character,  ain't  you?  Dynamite?  Not 
much.  Old  stuff,  and  it  shoots  both  ways. 
We're  up-to-date,  we  are.  This  here  box,  Mr. 
Gwinne — we  have  in  this  box  the  last  straw 
that  broke  the  camel's  back.  Listen !" 


266          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

He  held  up  the  box.  Gwinne  listened. 
His  smile  broadened.  He  sat  down  suddenly 
and — the  story  hates  to  tell  this — Mr.  Gwinne 
giggled.  It  was  an  unseemly  exhibition,  par 
ticularly  from  a  man  so  large  as  Mr.  Gwinne. 

"Going  to  give  Dines  a  gun?"  inquired 
Hamilton. 

Mr.  Gwinne  wiped  his  eyes.  "No.  That 
wouldn't  be  sensible.  They'd  spring  a  light 
on  us,  see  Dines,  shoot  Dines,  and  go  home. 
But  they  don't  want  to  lynch  us  and  they'll 
hesitate  about  throwing  the  first  shot.  We'll 
keep  Dines  where  he  is." 

He  led  the  way  to  Johnny's  cell.  The  con 
versation  had  been  low-voiced;  Johnny  was 
asleep.  Gwinne  roused  him. 

"Hey,  Johnny  I  When  is  your  friend  com 
ing  to  break  you  out?" 

"Huh?"  said  Johnny. 

"If  he  shows  up,  send  him  to  the  back  door, 
and  I'll  let  him  in.  We're  going  to  have  a 
lynchin'  bee  presently." 

"Why,  that  was  me!"  said  Charlie. 

"Oh,  was  it?     Excuse  me.     I  didn't  recog- 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          267 

nize  your  voice.  You  was  speakin'  pretty 
low,  you  see.  I  was  right  round  the  corner. 
Dog  heard  you,  and  I  heard  the  dog.  Well, 
that's  too  bad.  We  could  use  another  good 
man,  right  now."  Mr.  Gwinne  spoke  the  last 
words  with  some  annoyance.  "Well,  come  on 
— let's  get  everything  ready.  You  fellows  had 
better  scatter  round  on  top  of  the  cells.  I 
reckon  the  iron  is  thick  enough  to  turn  a  bullet. 
Anyhow,  they  can't  see  you.  I'll  put  out  the 
light.  I'm  going  to  have  a  devil  of  a  time 
to  keep  this  dog  quiet.  I'll  have  to  stay 
right  with  him  or  he'll  bark  and  spoil  the 
effect." 

"They're  coming,"  announced  Spinal  Ma- 
ginnis,  from  a  window.  "Walkin'  quiet — but 
I  hear  'em  crossin'  the  gravel." 

"By-by,  Dinesy,"  said  See.  "I've  been 
rolling  my  warhoop,  like  you  said." 

The  jail  was  dark  and  silent.  About  it 
shadows  mingled,  scattered,  and  gathered 
again.  There  was  a  whispered  colloquy. 
Then  a  score  of  shadows  detached  themselves 
from  the  gloom.  They  ranged  themselves  in 


268          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

a  line  opposite  the  jail  door.  Other  shadows 
crept  from  either  side  and  took  stations  along 
the  wall,  ready  to  rush  in  when  the  door  was 
broken  down. 

A  low  whistle  sounded.  The  men  facing 
the  door  came  forward  at  a  walk,  at  a  trot, 
at  a  run.  They  carried  a  huge  beam,  which 
they  used  as  a  battering  ram.  As  they  neared 
the  door  the  men  by  the  jail  wall  crowded 
close.  At  the  last  step  the  beam  bearers  in 
creased  their  pace  and  heaved  forward  to 
gether. 

Unlocked,  unbolted,  not  even  latched,  the 
door  flung  wide  at  the  first  touch,  and  whirled 
crashing  back  against  the  wall;  the  crew  of 
the  battering  ram,  braced  for  a  shock,  fell 
sprawling  across  the  threshold.  Reserves 
from  the  sides  sprang  over  them,  too  eager 
to  note  the  ominous  ease  of  that  door  forcing, 
and  plunged  into  the  silent  darkness  of  the 
jail. 

They  stiffened  in  their  tracks.  For  a  shaft 
of  light  swept  across  the  dark,  a  trembling 
cone  of  radiance,  a  dancing  light  on  the  clump 
of  masked  men  who  shrank  aside  from  that 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          269 

shining  circle,  on  a  doorway  where  maskers 
crowded  in.  A  melancholy  voice  floated 
through  the  darkness. 

"Come  in,"  said  Gwinne.  "Come  in — if 
you  don't  mind  the  smoke." 

The  lynchers  crowded  back,  they  huddled 
against  the  walls  in  the  darkness  beyond  that 
cone  of  dazzling  light. 

"Are  you  all  there?"  said  Gwinne.  His 
voice  was  bored  and  listless.  "Shaw,  Ellis, 
Clark,  Clancy,  Tucker,  Woodard,  Bruno, 
Toad  Hales—" 

"I  want  Sim!"  announced  Charlie  See's 
voice  joyously.  "Sim  is  mine.  Somebody 
show  me  which  is  Sim!  Is  that  him  pushin' 
back  toward  the  door?" 

A  clicking  sound  came  with  the  words, 
answered  by  similar  clickings  here  and  there 
in  the  darkness. 

"Tom  Ross  has  got  Sim  covered,"  said  the 
unhurried  voice  of  Spinal  Maginnis.  "You 
and  Hiram  Yoast  be  sure  to  get  that  big  fellow 
in  front.  I  got  my  man  picked." 

A  chuckle  came  from  across  the  way. 
"You,  Vet  Blackman!  Remember  what  I 


270         STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

told  you?  This  is  me — Buck  Hamilton. 
You're  my  meatl" 

"Oh,  keep  still  and  let  me  call  the  roll," 
complained  Gwinne's  voice — which  seemed  to 
have  shifted  its  position.  "Kroner,  Jody 
Weir,  Eastman,  Wiley,  Hover,  Lithpin 
Tham— " 

The  beam  of  light  shifted  till  it  lit  on  the 
floor  halfway  down  the  corridor;  it  fell  on 
three  boxes  there. 

From  the  outer  box  a  cord  led  up  through 
the  quivering  light.  This  cord  tightened  now, 
and  raised  a  door  at  the  end  of  the  box;  an 
other  cord  tilted  the  box  steeply. 

"Look!  Look  I  Look!"  shrieked  someone 
by  the  door. 

Two  rattlesnakes  slid  squirming  from  the 
box  into  that  glowing  circle — they  writhed, 
coiled,  swayed.  Z~z-z — B-z-z-zt!  The  light 
went  out  with  a  snap. 

"Will  you  fire  first,  gentlemen  of  the  black 
guards?"  said  Gwinne. 

Someone  screamed  in  the  dark — and  with 
that  scream  the  mob  broke.  Crowding,  curs 
ing,  yelling,  trampling  each  other,  fighting, 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT         271 

the  lynchers  jammed  through  the  door;  they 
crashed  through  a  fence,  they  tumbled  over 
boulders — but  they  made  time.  A  desultory 
fusillade  followed  them;  merely  for  en 
couragement. 


XII 

"Ostrich,  n.  A  large  bird  to  which  (for  its  sins,  doubtless) 
nature  has  denied  the  hinder  toe  in  which  so  many  pious  nat 
uralists  have  seen  a  conspicuous  evidence  of  design.  The  ab 
sence  of  a  good  working  pair  of  wings  is  no  defect,  for,  as 
has  been  ingeniously  pointed  out,  the  ostrich  does  not  fly." 

— The  Devil's  Dictionary. 
"Fare  you  well: 

Hereafter,  in  a  better  world  than  this, 
I  shall  desire  more  love  and  knowledge  of  you." 

— As  You  Like  It. 

MR.  BENJAMIN  ATTLEBURY 
WADE  paced  a  narrow  beat  on  the 
matted  floor.  Johnny  Dines,  shirt- 
sleeved,  in  the  prisoners'  box,  leaned  forward 
in  his  chair  to  watch,  delighted.  Mr.  Ben 
jamin  Attlebury  Wade  was  prosecuting  at 
torney,  and  the  mat  was  within  the  inclosure 
of  the  court  room,  marked  off  by  a  wooden 
rail  to  separate  the  law's  machinery  from  the 
materi —  That  has  an  unpleasant  sound.  To 
separate  the  taxpayer  from —  No,  that  won't 
do.  To  separate  the  performers  from  the 
spectators — that  is  much  better.  But  even 
that  has  an  offensive  sound.  Unintentionally 
so;  groping,  we  near  the  heart  of  the  mystery; 
the  rail  was  to  keep  back  the  crowd  and  pre 
vent  confusion.  That  it  has  now  become  a 

272 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          273 

sacramental  barrier,  a  symbol  and  a  sign  of 
esoteric  mystery,  is  not  the  rail's  fault;  it  is 
the  fault  of  the  people  on  each  side  of  the  rail. 
Mr.  Wade  had  been  all  the  long  forenoon 
examining  Caney  and  Weir,  and  was  now 
searching  the  deeps  of  his  mind  for  a  last 
question  to  put  to  Mr.  Hales,  his  last  witness. 
Mr.  Wade's  brow  was  furrowed  with  thought; 
his  hands  were  deep  in  his  own  pockets.  Mr. 
Wade's  walk  was  leisurely  important  and 
fascinating  to  behold.  His  foot  raised  slowly 
and  very  high,  very  much  as  though  those 
pocketed  hands  had  been  the  lifting  agency. 
When  he  reached  the  highest  point  of  each 
step  his  toe  turned  up,  his  foot  paused,  and 
then  felt  furtively  for  the  floor — quite  as  if 
he  were  walking  a  rope,  or  as  if  the  floor  might 
not  be  there  at  all.  The  toe  found  the  floor, 
the  heel  followed  cautiously,  they  planted 
themselves  on  the  floor  and  took  a  firm  grip 
there ;  after  which  the  other  foot  ventured  for 
ward.  With  such  stealthy  tread  the  wild 
beast  of  prey  creeps  quivering  to  pounce  upon 
his  victim.  But  Mr.  Wade  never  leaped. 
And  he  was  not  wild. 


274         STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

The  court  viewed  Mr.  Wade's  constitu 
tional  with  some  impatience,  but  Johnny  Dines 
was  charmed  by  it;  he  felt  a  real  regret  when 
Mr.  Wade  turned  to  him  with  a  ferocious 
frown  and  snapped:  "Take  the  witness  1" 

Mr.  Wade  parted  his  coat  tails  and  sat 
down,  performing  that  duty  with  the  air  of 
a  sacrament.  Johnny  did  not  rise.  He  set 
tled  back  comfortably  in  his  chair  and  looked 
benevolently  at  the  witness. 

"Now,  Mr.  Hales,  about  that  yearling  I 
branded  in  Redgate  canon — what  color  was 
it?" 

Mr.  Wade  rose,  indignant. 

"Your  honor,  I  object!  The  question  is 
irrelevant,  incompetent  and  immaterial. 
Aside  from  its  legal  status,  such  a  question 
is  foolish  and  absurd,  and  an  insult  to  the 
court." 

"Why,  now,  I  didn't  object  to  any  of  your 
foolish  and  absurd  questions  all  morning." 
Johnny's  eyes  widened  with  gentle  reproach. 
"I  let  you  ask  all  the  questions  you  wanted." 

Mr.  Wade's  nose  twisted  to  a  triumphant 
sneer. 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          275 

"  'He  who  is  his  own  lawyer  has  a  fool  for 
a  client!'" 

"I  didn't  want  to  take  any  unfair  advan 
tage,"  explained  Johnny. 

"Gentle'men !  Gentlemen  I"  expostulated 
the  court. 

"You  gallows  meat!"  snarled  Wade.  "You 
dirty—" 

Johnny  shook  his  head  in  a  friendly  warn 
ing.  "He  means  you,  too,"  he  whispered. 

The  gavel  fell  heavily.  The  court  rose  up 
and  the  court's  eyes  narrowed. 

"This  bickering  has  got  to  stop!  It  is  dis 
graceful.  I  don't  want  to  see  any  more  of  it. 
Mr.  Wade,  for  that  last  remark  of  yours  you 
ought  to  pay  a  heavy  fine,  and  you  know  it 
very  well.  This  prisoner  is  being  tried  for 
murder.  That  does  not  make  him  a  mur 
derer.  Your  words  were  unmanly,  sir." 

"May  it  please  the  court,"  said  Wade,  white 
faced  and  trembling  with  rage,  "I  acknowl 
edge  myself  entirely  wrong,  and  I  beg  the 
court's  pardon.  I  own  that  I  was  exasperated. 
The  prisoner  insulted  me  grossly." 

".You  insulted  him  first.    You  have  been 


276          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

doing  it  right  along.  You  lawyers  are  always 
browbeating  witnesses  and  prisoners.  You 
get  'em  where  they  can't  talk  back  and  then 
you  pelt  'em  with  slurs  and  hints  and  sneers 
and  insults.  You  take  a  mean  advantage  of 
your  privileged  position  to  be  overbearing  and 
arrogant.  I've  watched  you  at  it.  I  don't 
think  it  is  very  sporting  to  say  in  the  court 
room  what  you  wouldn't  dare  say  on  the  street. 
But  when  someone  takes  a  whack  at  you — 
wow!  that's  different!  Then  you  want  the 
court  to  protect  you."  He  paused  to  consider. 

The  justice  of  the  peace — Judge  Hinkle, 
Andy  Hinkle — was  a  slim,  wizened  man, 
brown  handed,  brown  faced,  lean  and 
wrinkled,  with  thin  gray  hair  and  a  thin 
gray  beard  and  faded  blue  eyes,  which  could 
blaze  blue  fire  on  occasion.  Such  fire,  though 
a  mild  one,  now  died  away  from  those  old 
eyes,  and  into  them  crept  a  slightly  puzzled 
expression.  He  looked  hard  at  Mr.  Wade 
and  he  looked  hard  at  Mr.  Dines.  Then  he 
proceeded. 

"Mr.  Wade,  this  court —  Oh,  let's  cut  out 
the  court — that  makes  me  tired!  'This  court 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT         277 

fines  you  twenty-five  dollars  for  contempt  of 
court/  How  would  that  sound?" 

Wade  managed  a  smile,  and  bowed,  not 
ungracefully.  "It  would  sound  unpleasant 
— perhaps  a  little  severe,  sir." 

The  court  twinkled.  "I  was  only  meaning 
how  silly  it  seemed  to  a  plain  man  for  him  to 
have  to  refer  to  himself  as  the  court.  I'm  not 
going  to  fine  you,  Mr.  Wade — not  this  time. 
I  could,  of  course,  but  I  won't.  It  would  be 
unfair  to  lecture  you  first  and  then  fine  you. 
Besides,  there  is  something  else.  You  have 
had  great  provocation  and  I  feel  compelled  to 
take  that  into  consideration.  Your  apology  is 
accepted.  I  don't  know  who  began  it — but  if 
you  have  been  insulting  the  prisoner  it  is  no 
less  true  that  the  prisoner  has  been  aggravating 
you.  I  don't  know  as  I  ever  saw  a  more  pro 
voking  man.  I  been  keepin'  an  eye  on  him 
• — his  eyebrows,  the  corners  of  his  eyes,  the 
corners  of  his  mouth,  his  shoulder-shrugging, 
and  his  elbows,  and  his  teeth  and  his  toes. 
Mr.  Wade,  your  moldy  old  saw  about  a  fool 
for  a  client  was  never  more  misplaced.  This 
man  can  out  talk  you  and  never  open  his 


278         STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

mouth.  I'd  leave  him  alone  if  I  was  you — he 
might  make  a  fool  of  you." 

Johnny  half  opened  his  mouth.  The  judge 
regarded  him  sternly.  The  mouth  closed 
hastily.  Johnny  dimpled.  The  judge's  ham 
mer  fell  with  a  crash. 

"I  give  you  both  fair  notice  right  now," 
said  Judge  Hinkle,  "if  you  start  any  more  of 
this  quarreling  I'm  goin'  to  slap  on  a  fine 
that'll  bring  a  blister." 

Johnny  rose  timidly  and  addressed  the 
court. 

"Your  Honor,  I'm  aimin'  to  'tend  strictly 
to  my  knittin'  from  now  on.  But  if  I  should 
make  a  slip,  and  you  do  have  to  fine  me — 
couldn't  you  make  it  a  jail  sentence  instead? 
I'm  awful  short  of  money,  Your  Honor." 

He  reached  behind  him  and  hitched  up  the 
tail  of  his  vest  with  both  hands,  delicately;  this 
accomplished,  he  sank  into  his  chair,  raised 
his  trousers  gently  at  the  knee  and  gazed  about 
him  innocently. 

"My  Honor  will  be—" 

The  judge  bit  the  sentence  in  two,  leaving 
the  end  in  doubt;  he  regarded  the  prisoner 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT         279 

with  baleful  attention.  The  prisoner  gazed 
through  a  window.  The  judge  beckoned  to 
Mr.  Gwinne,  who  sat  on  the  front  seat  between 
See  and  Hobby  Lull.  Mr.  Gwinne  came  for 
ward.  The  judge  leaned  across  the  desk. 

"Mr.  Gwinne,  do  you  feed  this  prisoner 
well?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"About  what,  now,  for  instance?" 

"Oh — beefsteak,  ham  and  eggs,  enchiladas, 
canned  stuff — most  anything." 

"Mr.  Gwinne,  if  I  told  you  to  put  this 
prisoner  on  a  strict  ration,  would  you  obey 
orders?" 

"I  certainly  would." 

"That's  all,"  said  the  judge.  "Thank  you. 
Mr.  Dines,  you  may  go  on  with  the  case.  The 
witness  may  answer  the  question.  Objection 
overruled.  State  your  question  again,  Mr. 
Dines." 

"Mr.  Hales,  will  you  tell  His  Honor  what 
color  was  the  calf  I  branded  in  Redgate 
Canon,  day  before  yesterday,  about  two  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon?" 

"I  don't  know,"  answered  Hales  sulkily. 


28o          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

"Oh!    You  didn't  see  it,  then?" 

"No." 

"Then  you  are  not  able  to  state  that  it  was 
a  calf  belonging  to  Adam  Forbes?" 

"No." 

Johnny's  eyes  sought  the  window.  "Nor 
whether  it  was  a  calf  or  a  yearling?" 

"Of  course  not." 

"Did  you  see  me  brand  the  calf?" 

"I  did  not!"  Hales  spat  out  the  words  with 
venomous  emphasis.  Johnny  was  unmoved. 

"Will  you  tell  the  court  if  the  brand  I  put 
on  this  heifer  calf  or  bull  yearling  was  my 
brand  or  Adam  Forbes7  brand?" 

The  gavel  fell. 

"Objection!"  barked  Wade. 

"Sustained.  The  question  is  improperly 
put.  The  witness  need  not  answer  it.  The 
counsel  for  the  defense  need  not  continue 
along  these  lines.  I  am  quite  able  to  distin 
guish  between  evidence  and  surmise,  between 
a  stated  fact  and  unfair  suggestion." 

"Does  Your  Honor  mean  to  insinuate — " 

"Sit  down,  Mr.  Wade!  Sit  down!  My 
Honor  does  not  mean  to  insinuate  anything. 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          281 

My  Honor  means  to  state  that  you  have  been 
trying  to  throw  dust  in  my  eyes.  My  Honor 
wishes  to  state  that  you  should  never  have 
been  allowed  to  present  your  evidence  in  any 
such  shape,  and  if  the  prisoner  had  been  rep 
resented  by  a  competent  lawyer  you  would  not 
have  been  allowed — " 

The  judge  checked  himself;  his  face  fell; 
he  wheeled  his  chair  slowly  and  glared  at  the 
prisoner  with  awful  solemnity.  "Dines!  Is 
that  why  you  made  no  objections?  So  the 
prosecuting  attorney  would  queer  himself  with 
this  court  by  attempting  unfair  tactics?  An 
swer  me,  sir!" 

"But  is  it  likely,  Your  Honor,  that  I  could 
see  ahead  as  far  as  that?" 

"Humph!"  snorted  His  Honor.  He  turned 
back  to  the  prosecuting  attorney.  "Mr.  Wade, 
I  am  keeping  cases  on  you.  Your  questions 
have  been  artfully  framed  to  lead  a  simple 
old  man  astray — to  bewilder  him  until  he  is 
ready  to  accept  theory,  surmise  and  suggestion 
as  identical  with  a  statement  of  facts  or  state 
ments  purporting  to  be  facts.  I'm  simple  and 
old,  all  right — but  I  never  did  learn  to  lead." 


282          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

Mr.  Benjamin  Attlebury  Wade  sprang  to 
his  feet. 

"Your  Honor,  I  protest!  You  have  been 
openly  hostile  to  the  prosecution  from  the 
first" 

"Ah!"  said  the  judge  mildly.  "You  fear 
my  remarks  may  unduly  influence  my  deci 
sion — is  that  it?  Calm  yourself,  Mr.  Wade. 
I  cannot  say  that  I  blame  you  much,  how 
ever.  You  see,  I  think  United  States,  and 
when  I  have  to  translate  into  the  customary 
idiomcies  of  the  law  I  do  a  bum  job."  He 
turned  his  head  and  spoke  confidentially  to 
the  delighted  court  room.  "Boys,  it's  gettin7 
me!"  he  said.  "Did  you  hear  that  chatter  I 
put  out,  when  all  I  wanted  to  say  was  that  I 
still  knew  sugar  from  salt  and  sawdust  from 
cornmeal — also,  in  any  case  of  extreme  im 
portance,  as  hereinbefore  mentioned,  and  tak 
ing  in  consideration  the  fine  and  subtle 
nuisances  of  delicate  thought,  as  it  were, 
whereas,  being  then  and  there  loaded  with 
shot  and  slugs,  I  can  still  tell  a  hawk  from  a 
handsaw.  Why,  I'm  getting  so  I  talk  that 
jargon  to  my  jackass  when  I  wallop  him  over 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          283 

the  place  made  and  provided  on  him,  the  said 
jackass,  with  a  curajo  pole!  I'll  tell  you  what 
— the  first  man  I  catch  voting  for  me  next  year 
I'm  going  to  pat  him  over  the  head  with  a 
pickhandle.  You  may  proceed  with  the  case, 
Mr.  Dines." 

"This  is  an  outrage!"  bawled  the  furious 
and  red-faced  prosecutor.  "This  is  an  out 
rage!  An  outrage!  These  proceedings  are  a 
mockery!  This  whole  trial  is  a  travesty  on 
justice!" 

The  gavel  banged  down. 

"This  court  is  now  adjourned,"  announced 
Judge  Hinkle. 

He  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  sighed 
luxuriously.  He  took  out  a  pair  of  steel- 
rimmed  spectacles  and  polished  them;  he  held 
them  poised  delicately  in  one  hand  and 
beamed  benevolently  on  the  crowded  court 
room. 

"We  have  had  a  very  trying  forenoon,"  ob 
served  Mr.  Hinkle  blandly.  "Perhaps  some 
of  us  are  ruffled  a  little.  But  I  trust  that 
nothing  which  has  happened  in  this  court 
room  will  cause  any  hard  feeling  of  a  lasting 


284          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

character.  And  I  strongly  advise  that  under 
no  circumstances  will  any  of  you  feel  impelled 
to  take  any  man  and  put  his  head  under  a 
pump,  and  pump  on  his  head."  The  gavel 
rapped  smartly.  "This  court  will  now  come 
to  order!  Mr.  Dines,  as  I  remarked  be 
fore  recess,  you  will  now  proceed  with  the 


case." 


"I'll  not  detain  you  long,  Mr.  Hales,"  said 
Johnny.  "I  didn't  bother  to  cross-examine 
the  previous  witnesses" — he  smiled  upon 
Caney  and  Weir — "because  they  are  suffering 
from  the  results  of  an  accident.  In  the  mines, 
as  I  hear.  Mining  is  a  dangerous  business. 
Very.  Sometimes  a  man  is  just  one-sixteenth 
of  a  second  slow — and  it  gets  him  trouble.  I 
understand,  Mr.  Hales,  that  you  three  gentle 
men  were  together  when  you  found  the  mur 
dered  man?" 

"Yes." 

"You  had  been  prospecting  together?" 

"Prospecting,  and  looking  for  saddle 
thieves." 

"Did  you  find  the  saddle  thieves?" 

"No ;  I  told  you  once." 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          285 

"No,"  said  Johnny;  "you  told  Mr.  Wade. 
Find  any  mines?" 

"Yes." 

"Good  prospect?" 

"I  think  so." 

"Um — yes."  Johnny  hesitated,  and  fell 
silent.  Hales  fidgeted.  "And  the  murdered 
man,"  began  Johnny  slowly,  and  stopped. 
Hales  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief.  Johnny  darted 
a  swift  glance  at  the  judge.  "And  the  mur 
dered  man  had  been  shot  three  times?" 

"Three  times.     In  the  back." 

"The  shots  were  close  together?" 

"Yes.  My  hand  would  have  covered  all 
three." 

"Sure  of  that?" 

"Positive." 

"In  your  opinion,  these  shots  had  been  fired 
at  close  range?" 

An  interruption  came.  Four  men  trooped 
into  the  door,  booted  and  spurred ;  three  of  the 
John  Cross  men — Tom  Ross,  Frank  Bojar- 
quez,  Will  Foster;  with  Hiram  Yoast,  of  the 
Bar  Cross :  four  fit  to  stand  by  Caesar.  A  stir 
ran  through  the  court  room.  They  raised 


286         STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

their  hands  to  Johnny  in  grave  salute;  they 
filed  to  a  bench  together. 

Johnny  repeated  the  question:  "You  say, 
Mr.  Hales,  that  these  three  shots  had  been 
fired  at  close  range?" 

"The  dead  man's  shirt  was  burned.  The 
gun  must  have  been  almost  between  his 
shoulder  blades." 

"Was  there  any  blood  on  Forbes'  saddle?" 

"I  didn't  see  Forbes'  saddle,"  growled 
Hales;  "or  Forbes' horse." 

"Oh,  yes.  But  in  your  opinion,  Forbes  was 
riding  when  he  was  killed?" 

"In  my  opinion,  he  was." 

"What  makes  you  think  so?" 

"We  found  the  tracks  where  Forbes  was 
dragged,  twenty  feet  or  so,  before  his  foot 
come  loose  from  the  stirrup,  and  blood  in  the 
track  all  the  way.  I  told  all  this  before." 

"So  you  did,  so  you  did.  Now  about  these 
wounds.  Did  the  path  of  the  bullets  range 
up  or  down  from  where  they  entered  the 
body?" 

"Down." 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          287 

"Sure  of  that?" 

"Yes." 

"Did  you  examine  the  body?" 

"How  else  would  I  know?  Of  course  I 
did." 

"Show  the  court,  on  your  own  body,  about 
where  the  wounds  were  located." 

"They  went  in  about  here" — indicating — 
"and  come  out  about  here." 

"Thank  you.  Then  the  shots  passed  ob 
liquely  through  the  body,  entering  behind, 
somewhere  near  the  left  shoulder  blade,  and 
coming  out  at  a  point  slightly  lower,  and  under 
the  right  breast?" 

"About  that,  yes." 

"All  indicating  that  the  murderer  rode  at 
his  victim's  left  hand,  and  a  little  behind  him, 
when  these  shots  were  fired?" 

"I  think  so,  yes." 

"And  that  the  gun  muzzle  must  have  been 
a  little  higher  than  the  wounds  made  by  the 
entering  bullets,  because  the  bullets  passed 
through  the  body  with  a  slightly  downward 
trend?" 


288          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

"That  is  right" 

"How  big  was  the  murdered  man?" 

"He  was  a  very  large  man." 

"Very  heavy  or  very  tall?" 

"Both,  I  should  say.  It  is  hard  to  judge  a 
dead  man's  height.  He  was  very  heavily 
built." 

"You  lifted  him?" 

"I  turned  him  over." 

"How  tall  was  he,  would  you  say?" 

"I  tell  you,  I  don't  know."  Hales  was 
visibly  more  impatient  with  each  question. 

"Of  course  you  don't  know.  But  you  can 
make  a  guess.  Come,  give  the  court  your  esti 
mate." 

"Not  less  than  six  feet,  I  should  say.  Prob 
ably  more." 

"Did  you  see  Adam  Forbes'  horse — no,  you 
told  us  that.  But  you  saw  my  horse  when  you 
arrested  me?" 

"Yes." 

"Was  my  horse  a  small  horse  or  a  large 
one?" 

"A  small  one." 

Johnny  rose  and  strolled  to  the  window. 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT         289 

"Well,  about  how  high?" 

"About  fourteen  hands.     Possibly  an  inch 


more." 


"Would  you  know  my  horse  again?" 

"Certainly." 

"So  you  could  swear  to  him?" 

"Yes." 

"What  color  was  he?" 

"A  grullo — a  very  peculiar  shade  of  grullo 
— a  sleek  glossy,  velvety  blue." 

"Was  he  thin  or  fat?" 

"Neither.     Smooth — not  fat." 

"Did  you  notice  his  brand?" 

"Of  course." 

"Describe  it  to  the  court." 

"He  was  branded  K  I  M  on  the  left  hip." 

"On  which  side  did  his  mane  hang?" 

"On  the  left." 

"Thank  you.  Now,  Mr.  Hales,  would 
you  describe  me  as  a  large  man  or  a  small 
one?" 

Hales  looked  an  appeal  to  the  prosecutor. 

"I  object  to  that  question — improper,  irrel 
evant,  incompetent  and  immaterial.  And 
that  is  not  all.  This  man,  this  man  Dines,  is 


290          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

arguing  the  case  as  he  goes  along,  contrary  to 
all  rule." 

"I  like  it  that  way,"  observed  the  judge 
placidly.  "If  he  makes  his  point  as  the  evi 
dence  is  given,  I'm  not  likely  to  miss  any  bets, 
as  I  might  do  if  he  waited  for  the  summing 
up." 

"I  objected  to  the  question,"  snapped  the 
prosecutor.  "I  demand  your  ruling." 

"Has  the  defense  anything  to  offer?  That 
question  would  certainly  seem  to  be  super 
fluous  on  the  face  of  it,"  said  the  court,  mildly. 

"Your  Honor,"  said  Johnny,  "I  want  to  get 
this  down  on  the  record  in  black  and  white. 
Someone  who  has  never  seen  me  may  have 
to  pass  on  this  evidence  before  we  get  done. 
I  want  that  person  to  be  sure  of  my  size." 

"Objection  overruled." 

"Please  describe  me — as  to  size — Mr. 
Hales." 

"A  very  small  man,"  answered  Hales 
sulkily. 

"In  your  opinion,  when  I  shot  Adam  Forbes 
did  I  stand  on  my  saddle?  Or  could  I  have 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT         291 

inflicted  a  wound  such  as  you  have  described 
by  simply  kneeling  on  my  saddle — " 

"I  object!" 

" — if  Adam  Forbes  rode  a  horse  big  enough 
to  carry  his  weight,  and  I  rode  a  horse  four 
teen  hands  high?" 

Wade  leaped  to  his  feet  and  flung  out  his 
hands.  "I  object!"  he  shrilled. 

"Objection  sustained.  The  question  is  most 
improper.  I  shall  instruct  myself  to  disre 
gard  it  in  making  my  decision." 

"That's  all,"  said  Johnny  Dines;  and  sat 
down. 

"Any  more  witnesses  for  the  prosecution, 
Mr.  Wade?" 

"No,  sir.    The  prosecution  rests." 

The  judge  turned  back  to  Johnny.  "Wit 
nesses  for  the  defense?" 

"Call  my  horse,"  said  Johnny  Dines. 

"Your  Honor,  I  object!  This  is  prepos 
terous — unheard  of!  We  will  admit  the 
height  of  this  accursed  horse  as  being  approxi 
mately  fourteen  hands,  if  that  is  what  he  wants 
to  prove.  I  ask  that  you  keep  this  buffoon 


292          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

in  order.  The  trial  has  degenerated  into 
farce-comedy." 

"Do  you  know,  Mr.  Wade,  I  seem  to  ob 
serve  some  tragic  elements  in  this  trial,"  ob 
served  Hinkle.  "I  am  curious  to  hear  Mr. 
Dines  state  his  motive  in  making  so  extraor 
dinary  a  request  from  the  court." 

"He's  trying  to  be  funny!" 

"No,"  said  the  judge;  "I  do  not  think  Mr. 
Dines  is  trying  to  be  funny.  If  such  is  his 
idea,  I  shall  find  means  to  make  him  regret  it. 
Will  you  explain,  Mr.  Dines?  You  are  en 
titled  to  make  a  statement  of  what  you  expect 
to  prove." 

Johnny  rose. 

"Certainly.  Let  me  outline  my  plan  of  de 
fense.  I  could  not  call  witnesses  until  I  heard 
the  evidence  against  me.  Now  that  I  have 
heard  the  evidence,  it  becomes  plain  that,  ex 
cept  for  a  flat  denial  by  myself,  no  living  man 
can  speak  for  me.  I  was  alone.  When  I  take 
the  stand  presently,  I  shall  state  under  oath 
precisely  what  I  shall  now  outline  to  you 
briefly. 

"On  the  day  in  question  I  was  sent  by  Cole 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT         293 

Ralston  to  Hillsboro  to  execute  his  orders,  as 
I  will  explain  in  full,  later.  I  came  through 
MacCleod's  Park,  started  up  a  Bar  Cross  cow 
and  her  unbranded  yearling,  and  I  caught  the 
yearling  at  the  head  of  Redgate.  While  I 
was  branding  it,  a  big  man — I  have  every 
reason  to  believe  that  this  man  was  Adam 
Forbes — came  down  the  canon.  He  rode  up 
where  I  was  branding  the  yearling,  talked  to 
me,  smoked  a  cigarette,  gave  me  a  letter  to 
mail,  and  went  back  the  way  he  came.  I  went 
to  Garfield.  My  horse  had  lost  a  shoe,  as  the 
witnesses  have  stated.  I  nailed  on  a  fresh 
shoe  in  Garfield,  and  came  on.  I  was  arrested 
about  dark  that  night  while  on  the  road  to 
Hillsboro.  That  is  all  my  story.  True  or 
false,  I  shall  not  vary  from  it  for  any  cross- 
examination. 

"I  shall  ask  Your  Honor  to  consider  that  my 
story  may  be  true.  I  shall  ask  Your  Honor 
to  consider  that  if  my  story  is  true  no  man  may 
speak  for  me.  I  saw  no  other  man  between 
Upham  and  the  Garfield  ditch — twenty-five 
miles. 

"You  have  heard  the  prosecution's  theory. 


294          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

It  is  that  I  was  stealing  a  calf  belonging  to  the 
dead  man — ^branding  it;  that  he  caught  me  in 
the  act,  and  that  I  foully  murdered  him.  If 
I  can  prove  the  first  part  of  that  theory  to  be 
entirely  false;  if  I  can  demonstrate  that  even 
if  I  killed  Adam  Forbes  I  certainly  did  not 
kill  him  in  the  manner  or  for  the  motive  set 
forth  by  the  theory  of  the  prosecution — then 
you  may  perhaps  believe  my  unsupported 
statement  as  to  the  rest  of  it.  And  that  is  what 
I  can  do,  if  allowed  the  opportunity.  I  can 
not,  by  myself,  now  or  at  any  other  time,  abso 
lutely  prove  my  statement  to  be  true.  I  can 
and  will  prove  the  theory  of  the  prosecution 
to  be  absolutely  false.  To  do  that  I  rely  upon 
myself — not  upon  my  statement,  but  upon  my 
self,  my  body,  so  much  flesh  and  blood  and 
bone,  considered  as  an  exhibit  in  this  case, 
taken  in  connection  with  all  known  or  alleged 
facts;  on  myself  and  my  horse;  on  Adam 
Forbes'  dead  body  and  on  the  horse  Adam 
Forbes  rode  that  day;  on  the  Bar  Cross  year 
ling  I  branded  day  before  yesterday,  a  yearling 
that  I  can  describe  in  detail,  a  yearling  that 
can  be  found  and  must  be  found,  a  yearling 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          295 

that  will  be  found  following  a  Bar  Cross  cow. 
I  have  no  fancy  to  be  hanged  by  a  theory.  I 
demand  to  test  that  theory  by  facts.  I  demand 
that  my  horse  be  called  to  testify  to  the  facts." 

"Mr.  Gwinne,  you  may  call  the  prisoner's 
horse,"  said  the  justice.  "Spinal,  you  may  act 
as  the  court's,  officer  while  Gwinne  is  gone." 

"His  name  is  Twilight,"  added  Johnny, 
"and  he  is  over  at  the  Cans  stables." 

"I  protest!  Your  Honor,  I  protest  against 
such  unmitigated  folly,"  stormed  Mr.  Ben 
jamin  Attlebury  Wade,  in  a  hot  fury  of  ex 
asperation.  "You  are  making  a  mockery  of 
the  law!  There  is  no  precedent  on  record  for 
anything  like  this." 

"Here's  where  we  make  a  new  precedent, 
then,"  observed  the  court  cheerfully.  "I  have 
given  my  instructions,  and  I'd  be  willing  to 
place  a  small  bet  on  going  through  with  my 
folly.  I  don't  know  much  about  the  law,  but 
the  people  who  put  me  here  knew  I  didn't 
know  much  about  the  law  when  they  elected 
me — so  I  guess  they  aimed  to  have  me  get  at 
the  rights  of  things  in  my  own  way."  He 
twisted  his  scanty  beard  for  a  moment;  his 


296          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

faded  blue  eyes  peered  over  the  rims  of  his 
glasses.  "Not  that  it  would  make  any  great 
difference,"  he  added. 

A  little  weaned  from  the  strain  of  focalized 
effort,  Johnny  looked  out  across  the  blur  of 
faces.  Hobby  Lull  smiled  at  him,  and 
Charlie  See  looked  hardihood  like  his  own. 
There  were  other  friendly  faces,  many  of 
them;  and  beyond  and  above  them  all  shone 
the  faces  of  his  straining  mates,  Hiram  and  the 
three  John  Cross  men. 

"Judge,  may  I  speak  to  the  prisoner?" 
asked  Hiram  Yoast.  He  tugged  at  a  grizzled 
foretop. 

"You  may." 

"Old-timer,"  said  Hiram,  "we  didn't  hear 
of  you  till  late  last  night.  We  had  moved  on 
from  Hermosa.  That's  all,  Your  Honor. 
Thank  you." 

"Will  the  learned  counsel  for  the  defense 
outline  the  rest  of  his  program?"  inquired  the 
judge,  with  respectful  gentleness. 

"He  will,"  said  Johnny.  "I'll  have  to  ask 
you  to  continue  the  case  until  to-morrow,  or 
maybe  later — till  I  can  get  some  of  the  Gar- 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          297 

field  men  who  can  swear  to  the  size  of  the 
horse  Adam  Forbes  rode.  Then  I  want — " 

Charlie  See  rose. 

"I  offer  my  evidence.  I  slept  with  Adam 
Forbes  the  night  before  he  was  killed;  and  I 
saw  him  start.  He  rode  a  big  horse." 

"Thank  you/'  said  Johnny.  "I'll  call  you 
after  a  while.  Get  yourself  a  reserved  seat 
inside  here.  I  knew  Adam  Forbes  rode  a  big 
horse,  and  I  can  describe  that  horse — if  Adam 
Forbes  was  the  man  I  met  in  Redgate,  which 
IVe  never  doubted.  A  big  blaze-faced  bay 
with  a  Heart-Diamond  brand.  This  way." 
He  traced  on  the  wall  a  heart  with  an  inscribed 
diamond.  "But  I  want  to  call  the  men  who 
brought  in  Adam  Forbes.  I  want  to  question 
them  about  all  the  tracks  they  saw,  before  it 
rained.  So  you  see,  Your  Honor,  I'll  have  to 
ask  for  a  continuation.  I  can't  afford  to  be 
hanged  to  save  the  county  a  little  money." 

"You'll  get  your  continuation." 

"But  that  isn't  all.  That  yearling  I 
branded — he  was  from  the  river  basques,  for 
he  had  his  tail  full  of  sand  burs,  and  the  bunch 
he  was  with  was  sure  snaky.  His  mammy's 


298          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

a  Bar  Cross  cow  and  he's  a  Bar  Cross  bull — 
and  so  branded  by  me.  He'll  be  back  with 
her  by  this  time.  He  had  all  the  Hereford 
markings,  just  about  perfect.  His  mammy 
wasn't  marked  so  good.  She  had  a  bald  face 
and  a  line  back,  all  right,  and  white  feet  and 
a  white  belly.  But  one  of  her  stockings  was 
outsize — run  clear  up  her  thigh — and  she  had 
two  big  white  spots  on  her  ribs  on  the  nigh 
side.  I  didn't  see  the  other  side.  And  one  of 
her  horns  drooped  a  little — the  right  one.  I 
would  like  to  have  you  appoint  a  commission 
to  bring  them  into  court,  or  at  any  rate  to 
interview  them  and  get  a  statement  of  facts." 

"That's  reasonable,"  said  the  judge.  "Ap 
plication  granted."  He  called  to  Tom  Ross. 
"Tom,  that's  your  job.  You  and  your  three 
peelers  find  that  Bar  Cross  cow — objection 
overruled — and  that  bull  yearling.  Mr. 
Clerk,  you  may  so  enter  it,  at  the  charge  of 
Sierra  County." 

Wade  was  on  his  feet  again. 

"But,  Your  Honor,"  he  gasped,  "those  men 
are  the  prisoner's  especial  friends!" 

"Exactly.    That's  why  they'll  find  that  calf. 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT         299 

Results  are  what  I'm  after,  and  I  don't  care 
a  hang  about  methods."  He  frowned. 
"Look  here,  Mr.  Wade — am  I  to  understand 
that  you  want  this  prisoner  convicted  whether 
he's  guilty  or  not?" 

"No,  no,  certainly  not.  But  why  appoint 
those  four  men  in  particular?  There  is  al 
ways  the  possibility  of  collusion." 

Judge  Hinkle's  face  became  bleak  and  gray. 
He  rose  slowly.  The  court  room  grew  sud 
denly  still.  Hinkle  walked  across  the  little 
intervening  space  and  faced  the  prosecutor. 

"Collision,  perhaps  you  mean,"  he  said. 
His  quiet,  even  voice  was  cutting  in  its  con 
tempt.  "What  do  you  think  this  is — a  town 
full  of  thugs?  I  want  you  to  know  that  those 
four  men  stand  a  damn  sight  higher  in  this 
community  than  you  do.  Sit  down — you're 
making  an  indecent  exposure  of  your  soul!" 

As  he  went  back  to  his  desk,  an  oldish  man 
came  to  the  door  and  caught  Hobby  Lull's 
eye.  He  beckoned.  Hobby  rose  and  went  to 
the  door.  They  held  a  whispered  council  in 
the  anteroom. 

Judge    Hinkle    busied    himself    with    the 


300          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

papers  on  his  desk  for  a  moment.  When  he 
looked  up  his  face  had  regained  its  wonted 
color. 

"Here  comes  Gwinne  with  the  horse,"  an 
nounced  Hobby  Lull  from  the  anteroom. 

"Mr.  Dines,  how  does  your  client  propose 
to  question  that  horse,  if  I  may  ask?"  inquired 
the  judge. 

"I  propose  to  prove  by  my  horse,"  said 
Johnny,  "that  though  I  may  have  murdered 
this  man  I  certainly  did  not  shoot  him  while 
I  was  riding  this  horse.  And  I  depend  on  the 
evidence  of  the  prosecution's  witnesses" — he 
smiled  at  the  prosecution's  witnesses — "to  es 
tablish  that  no  one  rode  in  Redgate  that  day 
except  me — and  them!  If  the  court  will  ap 
point  some  man  known  to  be  a  rider  and  a 
marksman,  and  will  instruct  him  to  ride  my 
horse  by  the  courthouse  windows,  we  can  get 
this  testimony  over  at  once.  It  has  been 
shown  here  that  I  carried  a  .45.  Set  up  a  box 
out  there  where  we  can  see  from  the  windows ; 
give  your  man  a  gun  and  tell  him  to  ride  as 
close  as  he  likes  and  put  three  shots  in  that  box. 
If  he  hits  that  box  more  than  once — " 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          301 

"Gun-shy?"  said  Judge  Hinkle. 

"Watch  him!"  said  Johnny  rapturously. 

The  judge's  eye  rested  on  Mr.  Wade  with 
frank  distaste. 

"We  will  now  have  another  gross  instance 
of  collusion,"  he  announced.  "I  will  call  on 
Frank  Bojarquez  to  assist  the  court." 

Francisco  Bojarquez  upreared  his  straight 
length  at  the  back  of  the  hall. 

"Excuse,  please,  if  I  seem  to  tell  the  judge 
what  he  is  to  do.  But  what  Mistair  Wade 
says,  it  is  true  a  little — or  it  might  seem  true 
to  estrangers.  For  us  in  Hillsboro,  frien's  to- 
gethair,  eet  does  not  mattair;  we  know.  But 
because  the  worP  ees  full  of  estrangers — 
theenk,  Judge  Hinkle,  eef  it  is  not  bes'  that  it 
ees  not  a  great  frien'  of  the  preesoner  who  is 
to  examine  that  horse — what?  That  no 
estranger  may  have  some  doubts?  There  are 
so  many  estrangers." 

"Humph  1  There  is  something  in  that." 
The  justice  scratched  his  ear.  "Very  well. 
George  Scarboro,  stand  up.  Are  you  ac 
quainted  with  this  prisoner?" 

"No,  sir." 


302          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

"You  are  one  of  the  Arizona  Rangers?" 

"I  am." 

"Slip  your  saddle  on  that  blue  horse.  You 
know  what  you  have  to  do?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

Scarboro  departed,  and  half  the  court  room 
went  with  him.  Five  minutes  later  he  rode 
the  Twilight  horse,  prancing  daintily,  under 
the  courthouse  windows.  The  windows  were 
lined  with  faces.  Johnny,  the  judge  and 
Wade  had  a  window  to  themselves,  within  the 
sacred  railing.  But  Spinal  Maginnis  did  not 
look  from  any  window.  Spinal  was  looking 
elsewhere — at  Caney,  Weir  and  Hales. 

The  ranger  wore  a  loose  and  sagging  belt; 
his  gun  swung  low  on  his  thigh,  just  at  the 
reach  of  his  extended  arm.  As  he  came 
abreast  of  the  destined  box  Scarboro's  arm 
flashed  down  and  up.  So  did  Twilight. 

A  pistol  shot,  a  long  blue  streak,  and  a 
squeal  of  anguish  ascended  together,  hope 
lessly  mingled  and  indiscriminate,  spurning 
the  spinning  earth.  It  launched  toward  outer 
space  in  a  complex  of  motion  upward,  side- 
wise,  forward  and  inside  out,  shaming  the 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT         303 

orbit  of  the  moon,  nodes,  perturbations, 
apsides,  syzygies  and  other  symptoms  too 
luminous  to  mention ;  but  perhaps  apogee  and 
acceleration  were  the  most  prominent.  A 
clatter,  a  pitch,  an  agonized  bawl,  a  sailing 
hat,  a  dust  cloud,  a  desperate  face  above  it, 
with  streaming  hair;  the  marvel  fell  away 
down  the  hill  and  left  a  stunned  silence  be 
hind.  And  presently  a  gun  came  down. 

"Do  you  want  to  cross-examine  the  wit 
ness?"  inquired  Johnny. 

Wade  threw  up  his  hands. 

"Well!"  he  said.  "Well!"  His  jaw 
dropped.  He  drew  Johnny  aside  and  whis 
pered,  "See  here,  damn  you — did  you  kill  that 
man?" 

"No,  I  didn't,"  whispered 'Johnny.  "But 
you  keep  it  dark.  It's  a  dead  secret." 

The  roaring  crowd  came  in  with  laughter 
and  shouts.  As  they  found  seats  and  the 
tumult  quieted  Johnny  addressed  the  judge. 

"Shall  I  take  the  stand  now,  Your  Honor, 
or  wait  till  after  dinner?  It's  late,  I  know — 
but  you'd  believe  me  better  right  now — " 

"Wait  a  minute,  Andyl" 


304          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

A  man  rose  in  the  crowd — a  tall  old  man 
with  a  melancholy  face — the  same  who  had 
summoned  Hobby  Lull  to  the  door. 

"Why,  hello,  Pete !  I  didn't  see  you  come  I" 
said  the  judge. 

"That's  funny,  too.  I  have  been  here  half 
an  hour.  You're  getting  old,  Andy — getting 
old!" 

"Oh,  you  go  to  thunder!  Say,  can  you 
straighten  up  this  mess?" 

"I  can  help,  at  least — or  so  I  believe.  I  was 
with  the  search  party." 

"Well,  who  calls  this  witness — the  defense 
or  the  prosecution?"  inquired  the  court. 

"Oh,  let  me  call  myself — as  the  friend  of  the 
court,  amicus  curia,  just  as  they  used  to  do  in 
England — do  yet,  for  all  I  know.  I've  not 
heard  your  evidence — though  I  saw  some  just 
now,  outside.  But  I've  got  a  few  facts  which 
you  may  be  able  to  fit  in  somewhere.  I  don't 
know  the  defendant,  and  am  not  for  or  against 
the  prosecutor  or  for  anybody  or  anything  ex 
cept  justice.  So  I'll  take  it  kindly  if  you'd 
let  me  tell  my  story  in  my  own  way — as  the 
friend  of  justice.  I'll  get  over  the  ground 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT         305 

quicker  and  tell  it  straighten  If  anyone  is 
not  satisfied  they  can  cross-examine  me  after 
wards,  just  as  if  I  had  been  called  by  one  side 
or  the  other." 

Judge  Hinkle  turned  to  Wade.  "Any  ob 
jections?" 

"No,"  said  Wade.  "I  guess  justice  is  what 
we  all  want — results,  as  you  said  yourself." 

He  was  a  subdued  man.  His  three  wit 
nesses  stirred  uneasily,  with  sidelong  glances. 
Spinal  Maginnis  kept  a  corner  of  his  eye  on 
those  witnesses. 

"Suits  me,"  said  Johnny. 

"I  got  to  get  me  a  drink,"  whispered  Caney, 
and  rose,  tiptoeing.  But  Maginnis  rose  with 
him. 

"Sit  down,  Mr.  Caney,"  he  said.  "You 
look  poorly.  I'll  fetch  you  some  water." 

Pete  Harkey  took  the  stand  and  was  duly 
sworn.  He  crossed  his  legs  and  addressed  the 
judge. 

"Well,  we  went  up  in  Redgate,  Dan  Fender- 
son  and  I  and  a  bunch.  We  thought  there  was 
no  use  of  more  than  one  coming  here  to-day, 
because  we  all  saw  just  the  same  things." 


3o6          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

Hinkle  nodded.  "All  right,  Pete.  Tell  us 
about  it." 

"Well,  now,  Andy — Your  Honor — if  it's 
just  the  same  to  everybody,  I'll  skip  the  part 
about  the  tracks  and  finding  Adam  until  cross- 
examination.  It's  just  going  over  the  same 
old  ground  again.  I've  been  talking  to 
Hobby,  and  we  found  everything  just  about  as 
you  heard  it  from  these  boys."  His  eye 
shifted  toward  the  witness  bench.  "All  ex 
cept  one  little  thing  about  the  tracks,  and  that 
was  done  after  the  murder,  and  might  have 
been  happen-so.  And  I  was  wanting  to  hurry 
up  and  get  back  to  Garfield  to-night.  We're 
going  to  bury  Adam  at  sundown." 

"All  right,  Pete.  But  we'll  cross-examine 
you — if  not  to-day,  then  to-morrow.  It  pays 
to  work  tailings,  sometimes." 

"That's  queer,  too.  I  was  just  coming  to 
that — in  a  way.  Mining.  Adam  went  up 
there  to  prospect  for  gold — placer  gold. 
When  the  big  rain  came,  the  night  he  was 
killed,  all  tracks  were  washed  out,  of  course. 
We  hadn't  got  far  when  dark  came — and 
then  the  rain.  But  yesterday  I  went  combing 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          307 

out  the  country  to  look  for  Adam's  outfit  of 
camp  stuff,  and  also  to  see  if  perhaps  he  had 
found  any  claims  before  he  was  killed.  And 
I  found  this." 

He  handed  to  the  judge  a  small  paper 
packet,  folded  and  refolded,  and  wrapped 
round  with  a  buckskin  string.  The  judge 
opened  it. 

"Coarse  gold!"  he  said.  "Like  the  Apache 
gold  in  the  seventies !  Pete,  you Ve  got  a  rich 
mine  if  there's  much  of  this." 

"It  is  rich  dirt,"  said  Pete.  "I  got  that 
from  less  than  a  dozen  pans.  But  it  is  not 
my  mine." 

"How  so?" 

"I  got  home  late  last  night.  This  morning 
I  looked  in  all  the  pockets  in  the  clothes  Adam 
was  wearing.  Here  is  what  I  found  in  his 
vest."  He  handed  to  Hinkle  a  small  tobacco 
sack,  rolled  to  a  tiny  cylinder. 

"The  same  kind  of  gold — big  as  rice!"  said 
Hinkle.  "So  Adam  Forbes  found  this?" 

Caney's  hand  crept  under  his  coat. 

"Judge  for  yourself.  I  found  three  claims 
located.  Three.  But  no  name  of  Adam 


3o8          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

Forbes  to  any  notice.  One  claim  was  called 
the  'Goblin  Gold—' " 

Charlie  See  rose  up  as  if  he  were  lifted  by 
the  hair  of  his  head.  "The  other  names,  Petel 
Not  the  locators.  The  claims — give  me  the 
names  of  the  other  two  claims!" 

"  'Nine  Bucks'  was  one — and  the  Tlease 
Hush.'  " 

Charlie  turned  and  took  one  step,  his  tensed 
weight  resting  on  the  balls  of  his  feet,  his  left 
arm  lashed  out  to  point.  All  eyes  turned  to 
the  witness  bench — and  two  witnesses  looked 
at  one. 

"Caney!"  thundered  Charlie  See. 

Leaping,  Caney's  arm  came  from  his  coat. 
See's  hand  was  swifter,  unseen.  In  flashes  of 
fire  and  smoke,  Caney,  even  as  he  leaped  up, 
pitched  forward  on  his  face.  His  arm 
reached  out  on  the  floor,  holding  a  smoking 
gun,  and  See's  foot  was  on  the  gun. 

A  dozen  men  had  pulled  down  Toad  Hales 
and  Jody  Weir.  Gwinne's  gun  was  out. 

"Stand  back!  The  next  man  over  the  rails 
gets  it!"  Maginnis  jumped  beside  him.  The 
shouting  crowd  recoiled. 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT         309 

"Sit  down !  Sit  down,  everybody!"  shouted 
the  judge.  He  pounded  on  his  desk.  "Bojar- 
quez!  Ross!  Foster!  Come  up  here.  I 
make  you  deputies.  Get  this  crowd  out  or  get 
order." 

The  deafening  turmoil  stopped  as  suddenly 
as  it  had  begun. 

"Gwinne,  arrest  those  two  men  for  the  mur 
der  of  Adam  Forbes,"  ordered  Hinkle. 

"Well,  gee-whiz,  I'd  say  they  was  under 
arrest  now.  Here,  gimme  them."  He 
reached  down  and  handcuffed  Weir  and 
Hales  together.  "How's  Caney,  Dines? 
Dead?" 

Johnny  knelt  by  the  fallen  man.  "Dead  as 
a  door  nail.  Three  shots.  Did  he  get  you 
anywhere,  See?" 

"No.  He  was  just  one-sixteenth  of  a  second 
too  late."  Charlie  See  looked  hard  at  the 
cylinder  of  his  gun.  He  had  fired  only  two 
shots.  "Pete,  it's  a  wonder  he  didn't  hit  you. 
You  was  right  in  line." 

"I  wasn't  there,"  said  Pete  dryly.  "Not 
when  the  bullets  got  there.  Not  good 
enough." 


3io          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

Gwinne  and  Maginnis  took  the  two  pris 
oners  to  jail,  by  the  back  door. 

"Now  for  a  clearing  up,"  said  Judge 
Hinkle.  "You  seem  to  have  inside  informa 
tion,  Mr.  See.  Suppose  you  tell  us  about  it?" 

"No  c.hance  for  a  mistake,  judge.  I  had 
a  long  talk  with  Adam  the  night  before,  about 
a  lost  gold  mine  at  Mescalero.  And  three  of 
the  phrases  that  we  used  back  and  forth — it 
seems  he  picked  them  out  to  name  his  find. 
'Goblin  Gold.'  I  used  the  word  'gobbling' 
gold — joking,  you  know.  And  the  story  was 
about  'nine  bucks' ;  and  it  wound  up  with  an 
old  Mescalero  saying  Won't  you  please  hush?' 
It  wasn't  possible  that  those  three  names  had 
reached  the  papers  Pete  found,  except  through 
the  dead  man's  mind.  Adam  called  these 
three  men  to  witness  for  him,  likely.  Then 
they  killed  him  for  his  mines.  They  de 
stroyed  his  location  papers,  but  they  kept  the 
names.  Easier  than  to  make  up  new  ones. 
That'll  hang  'em." 

"Sounds  good.  But  how  are  you  going  to 
prove  it?  Suppose  they  get  a  good  lawyer 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          311 

and  stick  to  their  story?  They  found  a  mine, 
and  you  got  in  a  shooting  match  with  Caney. 
That  don't  prove  anything." 

"Well,  I'll  bet  I  can  prove  it,"  said  Johnny 
Dines.  "Ten  to  one,  that  letter  Forbes  gave 
me  to  mail  was  his  location  papers.  He 
seemed  keen  about  it." 

"Did  he  say  anything  about  location  papers? 
Was  the  letter  addressed  to  the  recorder?" 
demanded  Pete. 

"Look  now!"  said  Johnny.  "If  this  theory 
of  See's  is  correct,  and  if  that  really  was  loca 
tion  papers  in  the  letter  I  mailed — why,  that 
letter  won't  get  here  till  two  o'clock  this  after 
noon,  whether  it  is  the  location  papers  or  what. 
And  the  postmaster  and  the  recorder  are  both 
here  in  this  court  room,  judge.  Gwinne  was 
pointing  out  everybody  to  me,  before  you 
called  court.  So  they  can  mosey  along  down 
to  the  post  office  together — the  postmaster  and 
the  recorder.  And  when  that  letter  comes 
you'll  know  all  about  it." 

"Ah,  that  reminds  me,"  said  the  judge — 
"the  case  of  the  Territory  of  New  Mexico  vs. 


3i2          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

John  Dines  is  now  dismissed.  This  court  is 
now  adjourned.  John  Dines,  I  want  to  be  the 
first  to  congratulate  you." 

"Thanks,  Judge.  — Hiram,"  said  Johnny, 
"Cole  told  me  to  report  to  you.  He  said  I 
was  to  go  to  the  John  Cross  pasture  and  pick 
me  a  mount  from  the  runaways  there." 

"But,  Johnny,  you  can't  ride  those  horses," 
said  Bojarquez. 

Johnny  flushed.  "Don't  you  believe  it,  old 
hand.  You're  not  the  only  one  that  can  ride." 

Bojarquez  spread  out  his  hands.  "But 
bareback?  Where  ees  your  saddle?  And  the 
Twilight  horse?  The  bridle,  he  ees  broke. 
Scarb'ro's  in  Chihuahua  by  now." 

"Dinner's  on  me,"  said  Johnny. 

Charlie  See  drew  Johnny  aside  and  spoke  to 
him  in  confidence. 

"How  does  it  happen  you  know  so  pat 
just  wrhen  a  letter  gets  to  Hillsboro  when  it 
is  posted  in  Garfield?" 

"A  letter?     Oh— Hobby  Lull,  he  told  me." 

"Yes,  yes.  And  what  was  the  big  idea  for 
keeping  still  about  that  letter  while  they  wove 
a  rope  to  your  neck?" 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          313 

"Why,  my  dear  man,"  said  Johnny,  "I 
can't  read  through  a  sealed  envelope." 

Charlie  sniffed.  "You  saw  a  good  many 
things  mighty  clear,  I  notice,  but  you  over 
looked  the  one  big  bet — like  fun  you  did! 
Caney  and  Weir  and  Hales — don't  you  sup 
pose  they  knew  that  letter  was  on  the  way? 
And  that  it  was  never  to  reach  the  recorder?" 

"Since  you  are  so  very  shrewd,"  said 
Johnny,  "I  sometimes  wonder  that  you  are  not 
shrewder  still." 

"And  keep  my  mouth  shut?  That's  how  I 
shall  keep  it.  But  I  just  wanted  you  to  know. 
You  may  be  deceiving  me,  but  you're  not  fool 
ing  me  any.  Keep  your  secret." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Johnny,  "I  will." 

"Good  boy.  All  the  same,  Hobby  and  I 
will  be  up  at  the  post  office.  And  I  know 
now  what  we'll  find  in  that  letter  you  mailed. 
We'll  find  Adam's  location  papers,  with  them 
three  murderers  for  witness." 

And  they  did.  They  found  something  else 
too ;  a  message  from  beyond  the  grave  that  in 
his  hour  of  fortune  their  friend  did  not  forget 
his  friends. 


3H          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

They  buried  Adam  Forbes  at  sundown  of 
that  day.  No  thing  was  lacking;  his  friends 
and  neighbors  gathered  together  to  bid  him 
Godspeed;  there  were  love  and  tears  for  him. 
And  of  those  friends,  three  were  all  road 
stained  and  weary;  they  had  ridden  hard  from 
Hillsboro  for  that  parting;  Lull  and  Charlie 
See  and  old  Pete.  It  was  to  one  of  these  that 
all  eyes  were  turned  when  the  rude  coffin  was 
lowered  into  the  grave. 

"Pete?"  said  Jim-Ike-Jones. 

And  old  Pete  Harkey  stepped  forth  and 
spoke  slowly,  while  his  faded  old  eyes  looked 
past  the  open  grave  and  rested  on  the  hills 
beyond. 

"More  than  at  any  other  time  we  strive  to 
center  and  steady  our  thoughts,  when  we  stand 
by  the  loved  and  dead.  It  is  an  effort  as  vain 
as  to  look  full  and  steadily  at  the  blinding  sun. 
I  can  tell  you  no  thing  here  which  you  do  not 
know. 

"You  all  knew  Adam  Forbes.  He  was  a 
simple  and  kindly  man.  He  brought  a  good 
courage  to  living,  he  was  all  help  and  laughter, 
he  joyed  in  the  sting  and  relish  of  rushing  life. 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT         315 

Those  of  you  here  who  were  most  unfriends  to 
him  will  not  soon  forget  that  gay,  reckless, 
tender-hearted  creature. 

"You  know  his  faults.  He  was  given  to 
hasty  wrath,  to  stubbornness  and  violence. 
His  hand  was  heavy.  If  there  are  any  here 
who  have  been  wronged  by  this  dead  man — as 
I  think  most  like — let  the  memory  of  it  be 
buried  in  this  grave.  It  was  never  his  way 
to  walk  blameless.  He  did  many  things 
amiss;  he  took  wrong  turnings.  But  he  was 
never  too  proud  to  turn  back,  to  admit  a  mis 
take  or  to  right  his  wrongdoing.  He  paid 
for  what  he  broke. 

"For  the  rest — he  fed  the  hungry,  helped  the 
weak,  he  nursed  the  sick  and  dug  graves  for 
the  dead.  Now,  in  his  turn,  it  is  fitting  and 
just  that  no  bought  hand  dug  this  grave,  but 
that  his  friends  and  his  foes  did  him  this  last 
service,  and  called  pleasant  dreams  to  his  long 
sleep. 

"We  have  our  dear  dreams,  too.  It  can  do 
no  harm  to  dream  that  somewhere  down  the 
skies  that  brightness  and  fire  and  light  still 
flames — but  not  for  us. 


316          STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT 

"It  is  written  that  upon  Mars  Hill  the  men 
of  Athens  built  an  altar  'to  the  Unknown  God.' 
It  was  well  builded;  and  with  no  misgiving 
we  leave  our  friend  to  the  care — and  to  the 
honor — of  the  Unknown  God." 

He  stood  back;  and  from  the  women  who 
wept  came  one  who  did  not  weep,  dry-eyed 
and  pale;  whose  pitying  hand  dropped  the 
first  earth  into  the  grave. 

"Stardust  to  Stardust,"  said  Edith  Harkey. 

That  night  Pete  Harkey  stood  by  the  big 
fireplace  of  the  big  lonesome  house. 

"Shall  I  light  the  fire,  Edith?" 

"Not  to-night,  father." 

In  the  dimness  he  groped  for  a  chair;  he 
took  her  on  his  knee,  her  arms  clung  fast. 

"Is  it  well  with  you,  Edith?" 

Then,  in  the  clinging  dusk  she  dared  the 
truth  at  last;  to  ears  that  did  not  hear.  For 
his  thought  was  with  the  dead  man.  She 
knew  it  well ;  yet  once  to  tell  her  story — only 
once!  Her  voice  rang  steady,  prouder  than 
any  pride:  "I  have  loved  Greatheart.  It  is 
well  with  me." 


STEPSONS  OF  LIGHT          317 

"Poor  little  girl,"  he  said.  "Poor  little 
girl!"  The  proud  head  sought  his  breast  and 
now  her  tears  fell  fast. 

And  far  away,  Charlie  See  rode  south 
through  the  wizard  twilight.  There  was  no 
singing  now.  For  at  the  world's  edge  some 
must  fare  alone;  through  all  their  dreams  one 
unforgotten  face — laughing,  and  dear,  and 
lost. 


THE  END 


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